PEG  O'  MY  HEART 


Y^r 

I 


'Sure  I  only  came  in  this  minnit" 


A  COMEDY  OF  YOUTH 

BY 

J.  HARTLEY  MANNERS 


THIS  NOVEL  IS  FOUNDED  BY  MR.  MANNERS 
ON  HIS  PLAY  OF  THE  SAME  TITLE 


ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM 
PHOTOGRAPHS  OF  THE  PLAY 


PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1913 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

Published  October,  1913 


TO 
"LAURIE" 

•• — in  that  which  no  waters  can  quench, 
No  time  forget,  nor  distance  wear  away.1 


2075572 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  THE  FIRST 

THE   ROMANCE   OF   AN   IRISH   AGITATOR  AND  AN 

ENGLISH   LADY  OF   QUALITY 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  The  Irish  Agitator  Makes  His  First  Appearance       3 

II  The   Panorama  of  a  Lost  Youth    .      .      .      .13 

III  St.    Kernan's   Hill 17 

IV  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth  Visits   Ireland    ...      27 
V     Angela 38 

VI  Angela  Speaks  Her  Mind  Freely  to  Nathaniel  47 

VII  The  Wounded  Patriot 52 

VIII  Angela  in  Sore  Distress 62 

IX  Two  Letters .71 

X  O'Connell  Visits  Angela  in  London  74* 

XI  Kingsnorth's   Despair 79 

XII  Looking  Forward 82 

BOOK  THE  SECOND 

THE  END  OF  THE  ROMANCE 

I     Angela's  Confession 85 

II     A  Communication  from   Nathaniel  Kingsnorth     91 
III     The  Birth  of  Peg 94 

BOOK  THE   THIRD 

PEG 

I     Peg's  Childhood 99 

II     We  Meet  an  Old  Friend  After  Many  Years  .    119 
III     Peg  Leaves  Her  Father  for  the  First  Time   .    123 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  THE  FOURTH 
PEG  IN  ENGLAND 


CHAPTER 


I  The  Chichester  Family 129 

II  Christian   Brent    .      . 139 

III  Peg  Arrives  in  England 152 

IV  The  Chichester  Family  Receive  a  Second  Shock  161 

V  Peg  Meets  Her  Aunt 177 

VI  Jerry 192 

VII  The  Passing  of  the  First  Month   .      .      .      .217 

VIII  The  Temple  of  Friendship 246 

IX  The  Dance  and  its  Sequel 260 

X  Peg  Intervenes 266 

XI  "The   Rebellion   of  Peg" 273 

XII  A  Room  in  New  York 280 

XIII  The  Morning  After 291 

XIV  Alaric  to  the  Rescue 301 

XV  Montgomery    Hawkes 313 

XVI  The  Chief  Executor  Appears  on  the  Scene  .      .327 

XVII  Peg  Learns  of  Her  Uncle's  Legacy      .      .      .  333 

XVIII  Peg's  Farewell  to  England 347 

BOOK  THE  FIFTH 
PEG  RETURNS  TO  HER  FATHER 

I  After  Many  Days 359 

II  Looking   Backward 367 

III  An  Unexpected  Visitor 371 

Afterword                                                                .  379 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  Sure  I  enly  came  in  this  minnit "  .       .       Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

With    Peg — study   meant    roaming   through    her    books 

until  she  found  something  that  interested  her       .        102 


Sure  that  thing  could  never  be  President  of  the  United 
States 188 

He  kissed  her  hand  reverently      , 262 

"Holy  Mother!"  she  cried,       the  whole   house'll    be 

awake!"  314 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 


"Oh,  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  Life 
as  Love's  Young  Dream." 


BOOK  I 


f 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR  AND 
AN  ENGLISH  LADY  OF  QUALITY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    IRISH    AGITATOR    MAKES    HIS    FIRST    APPEARANCE 

"  FAITH,  there's  no  man  says  more  and  knows  less  than 
yerself,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"About  Ireland,  yer  riverence?  " 

"  And  everything  else,  Mr.  O'Connell." 

"Is  that  criticism  or  just  temper,  Father?  " 

"  It's  both,  Mr.  O'Connell." 

"  Sure  it's  the  good  judge  ye  must  be  of  ignorance, 
Father  Cahill." 

"  And  what  might  that  mane  ?  " 

"  Ye  live  so  much  with  it,  Father." 

"  I'm  lookin'  at  it  and  listenin'  to  it  now,  Frank  O'Con- 
nell." 

"  Then  it's  a  miracle  has  happened,  Father." 

"A  miracle?" 

"  To  see  and  hear  one's  self  at  the  same  time  is  indade 
a  miracle,  yer  riverence." 

Father  Cahill  tightened  his  grasp  on  his  blackthorn 
stick,  and  shaking  it  in  the  other's  face,  said: 

"  Don't  provoke  the  Man  of  God !  " 

"  Not  for  the  wurrld,"  replied  the  other  meekly,  "  be- 
in'  mesef  a  Child  of  Satan." 

"  And  that's  what  ye  are.  And  ye'd  have  others  like 
yerself.  But  ye  won't  while  I've  a  tongue  in  me  head 
and  a  sthrong  stick  in  me  hand." 

O'Connell  looked  at  him  with  a  mischievous  twinkle 
in  his  blue-grey  eyes : 

"  Yer  eloquence  seems  to  nade  somethin'  to  back  it  up, 
I'm  thinkin'." 

3 


4  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Father  Cahill  breathed  hard.  He  was  a  splendid 
type  of  the  Irish  Parish-Priest  of  the  old  school.  Gifted 
with  a  vivid  power  of  eloquence  as  a  preacher,  and  a  heart 
as  tender  as  a  woman's  toward  the  poor  and  the  wretched, 
he  had  been  for  many  years  idolised  by  the  whole  com- 
munity of  the  village  of  M —  in  County  Clare.  But  of 
late  there  was  a  growing  feeling  of  discontent  among 
the  younger  generation.  They  lacked  the  respect  their 
elders  so  willingly  gave.  They  asked  questions  instead 
of  answering  them.  They  began  to  throw  themselves, 
against  Father  Cahill's  express  wishes  and  commands, 
into  the  fight  for  Home  Rule  under  the  masterly  states- 
manship of  Charles  Stuart  Parnell.  Already  more 
than  one  prominent  speaker  had  come  into  the  little  vil- 
lage and  sown  the  seeds  of  temporal  and  spiritual  un- 
rest. Father  Cahill  opposed  these  men  to  the  utmost  of 
his  power.  He  saw,  as  so  many  far-sighted  priests  did, 
the  legacy  of  bloodshed  and  desolation  that  would  fol- 
low any  direct  action  by  the  Irish  against  the  British 
Government.  Though  the  blood  of  the  patriot  beat  in 
Father  Cahill's  veins,  the  well-being  of  the  people  who 
had  grown  up  with  him  was  near  to  his  heart.  He  was 
their  Priest  and  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  men  he 
had  known  as  children  being  beaten  and  maimed  by  con- 
stabulary, and  sent  to  prison  afterwards,  in  the,  ap- 
parently, vain  fight  for  self-government. 

To  his  horror  that  day  he  met  Frank  Owen  O'Connell, 
one  of  the  most  notorious  of  all  the  younger  agitators, 
in  the  main  street  of  the  little  village. 

O'Connell's  back-sliding  had  been  one  of  Father  Ca- 
hill's bitterest  regrets.  He  had  closed  O'Connell's 
father's  eyes  in  death  and  had  taken  care  of  the  boy  as 
well  as  he  could.  But  at  the  age  of  fifteen  the  youth 
left  the  village,  that  had  so  many  wretched  memories 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     5 

of  hardship  and  struggle,  and  worked  his  way  to  Dublin. 
It  was  many  years  before  Father  Cahill  heard  of  him 
again.  He  had  developed  meanwhile  into  one  of  the 
most  daring  of  all  the  fervid  speakers  in  the  sacred 
Cause  of  Liberty.  Many  were  the  stories  told  of  his 
narrow  escapes  from  death  and  imprisonment.  He  al- 
ways had  the  people  on  his  side,  and  once  away  from 
the  hunt,  he  would  hide  in  caves,  or  in  mountains,  until 
the  hue  and  cry  was  over,  and  then  appear  in  some  totally 
unexpected  town  and  call  on  the  people  to  act  in  the  name 
of  Freedom. 

And  that  was  exactly  what  happened  on  this  par- 
ticular day.  He  had  suddenly  appeared  in  the  town  he 
was  born  in  and  called  a  meeting  on  St.  Kernan's  Hill 
that  afternoon. 

It  was  this  meeting  Father  Cahill  was  determined  to 
stop  by  every  means  in  his  power. 

He  could  hardly  believe  that  this  tall,  bronzed,  power- 
ful young  man  was  the  Frank  O'Connell  he  had  watched 
about  the  village,  as  a  boy  —  pale,  dejected,  and  with  but 
little  of  the  fire  of  life  in  him.  Now  as  he  stood  before 
Father  Cahill  and  looked  him  straight  through  with  his 
piercing  eye,  shoulders  thrown  back,  and  head  held  high, 
he  looked  every  inch  a  born  leader  of  men,  and  just  for  a 
moment  the  priest  quailed.  But  only  for  a  moment. 

"  Not  a  member  of  my  flock  will  attend  yer  meetin' 
to-day.  Not  a  door  will  open  this  day.  Ye  can  face 
the  constabulary  yerself  and  the  few  of  the  rabble  that'll 
follow  ye.  But  none  of  my  God-fearin'  people  will  risk 
their  lives  and  their  liberty  to  listen  to  you." 

O'Connell  looked  at  him  strangely.  A  far-away  glint 
came  into  his  eye,  and  the  suspicion  of  a  tear,  as  he  an- 
swered : 

"  Sure  it's  precious  little  they'd  be  riskin',  Father  Ca- 


6  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

hill;  havin'  no  liberty  and  their  lives  bein'  of  little  ac- 
count to  them." 

O'Connell  sighed  as  the  thought  of  his  fifteen  years  of 
withered  youth  in  that  poor  little  village  came  up  before 
him. 

"  Let  my  people  alone,  I  tell  ye !  "  cried  the  priest. 
"  It's  contented  they've  been  until  the  likes  of  you  came 
amongst  us." 

"  Then  they  must  have  been  easily  satisfied,"  retorted 
O'Connell,  "  to  judge  by  their  poor  little  homes  and  their 
drab  little  lives." 

"  A  hovel  may  be  a  palace  if  the  Divine  Word  is  in 
it,"  said  the  priest. 

"  Sure  it's  that  kind  of  tachin'  keeps  Ireland  the 
mockery  of  the  whole  world.  The  Divine  Word  should 
bring  Light.  It's  only  darkness  I  find  in  this  village," 
argued  O'Connell. 

"  I've  given  my  life  to  spreadin'  the  Light ! "  said  the 
priest. 

A  smile  hovered  on  O'Connell's  lips  as  he  muttered: 

"  Faith,  then,  I'm  thinkin'  it  must  be  a  dark-lantern 
yer  usin',  yer  riverence." 

"Is  that  the  son  of  Michael  O'Connell  talkin'?" 

Suddenly  the  smile  left  O'Connell's  lips,  the  sneer  died 
on  his  tongue,  and  with  a  flash  of  power  that  turned 
to  white  heat  before  he  finished,  he  attacked  the  priest 
with: 

"  Yes,  it  is !  It  is  the  son  of  Michael  O'Connell  who 
died  on  the  roadside  and  was  buried  by  the  charity  of 
his  neighbours.  Michael  O'Connell,  born  in  the  image 
of  God,  who  lived  eight-and-fifty  years  of  torment  and 
starvation  and  sickness  and  misery!  Michael  O'Connell, 
who  was  thrown  out  from  a  bed  of  fever,  by  order  of  his 
landlord,  to  die  in  sight  of  where  he  was  born.  It's  his 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      7 

son  is  talkin',  Father  Cahill,  and  it's  his  son  will  talk 
while  there's  breath  in  his  body  to  keep  his  tongue  wag- 
gin'.  It's  a  precious  legacy  of  hatred  Michael  O'Connell 
left  his  son,  and  there's  no  priest,  no  government,  no  po- 
liceman or  soldier  will  kape  that  son  from  spendin'  his 
legacy." 

The  man  trembled  from  head  to  foot  with  the  nervous 
intensity  of  his  attack.  Everything  that  had  been  out- 
raged in  him  all  his  life  came  before  him. 

Father  Cahill  began  to  realise  as  he  watched  him  the 
secret  of  the  tremendous  appeal  the  man  had  to  the  suf- 
fering people.  Just  for  a  moment  the  priest's  heart 
went  out  to  O'Connell,  agitator  though  he  was. 

*e  Your  father  died  with  all  the  comforts  of  the  Holy 
Church,"  said  the  priest  gently,  as  he  put  his  old  hand 
on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"  The  comforts  of  the  church ! "  scoffed  O'Connell. 
"  Praise  be  to  heaven  for  that ! "  He  laughed  a  grim, 
derisive  laugh  as  he  went  on: 

"  Sure  it's  the  fine  choice  the  Irish  peasant  has  to-day. 
4  Stones  and  dirt  are  good  enough  for  them  to  eat,'  sez 
the  British  government.  '  Give  them  prayers,'  say  the 
priests.  And  so  they  die  like  flies  in  the  highways  and 
hedges,  but  with  '  all  the  comforts  of  the  Holy  Church' !  " 

Father  Cahill's  voice  thrilled  with  indignation  as  he 
said: 

"  I'll  not  stand  and  listen  to  ye  talk  that  way,  Frank 
O'Connell." 

"  I've  often  noticed  that  those  who  are  the  first  to 
preach  truth  are  the  last  to  listen  to  it,"  said  the  agi- 
tator drily. 

"Where  would  Ireland  be  to-day  but  for  the  priest? 
Answer  me  that.  Where  would  she  be?  What  has  my 
life  here  been?  I  accepted  the  yoke  of  the  Church  when 


8  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

I  was  scarcely  your  age.  I've  given  my  life  to  serving 
it.  To  help  the  poor,  and  to  keep  faith  and  love  for 
Him  in  their  hearts.  To  tache  the  little  children  and 
bring  them  up  in  the  way  of  God.  I've  baptised  them 
when  their  eyes  first  looked  out  on  this  wurrld  of  sorrows. 
I've  given  them  in  marriage,  closed  their  eyes  in  death, 
and  read  the  last  message  to  Him  for  their  souls.  And 
there  are  thousands  more  like  me,  giving  their  lives  to 
their  little  missions,  trying  to  kape  the  people's  hearts 
clean  and  honest,  so  that  their  souls  may  go  to  Him 
when  their  journey  is  ended." 

Father  Cahill  took  a  deep  breath  as  he  finished.  He 
had  indeed  summed  up  his  life's  work.  He  had  given  it 
freely  to  his  poor  little  flock.  His  only  happiness  had 
been  in  ministering  to  their  needs.  And  now  to  have 
one  to  whom  he  had  taught  his  first  prayer,  heard  his 
first  confession  and  given  him  his  first  Holy  Communion 
speak  scoffingly  of  the  priest,  hurt  him  as  nothing  else 
could  hurt  and  bruise  him. 

The  appeal  was  not  lost  on  O'Connell.  In  his  heart 
he  loved  Father  Cahill  for  the  Christ-like  life  of  self- 
denial  he  had  passed  in  this  little  place.  But  in  his 
brain  O'Connell  pitied  the  old  man  for  his  wasted  years 
fti  the  darkness  of  ignorance  in  which  so  many  of  the  vil- 
lages of  Ireland  seemed  to  be  buried. 

O'Connell  belonged  to  the  "  Young  Ireland "  move- 
ment. They  wanted  to  bring  the  searchlight  of  knowl- 
edge into  the  abodes  of  darkness  in  which  the  poor  of 
Ireland  were  submerged.  To  the  younger  men  it  seemed 
the  priests  were  keeping  the  people  from  enlightenment. 
And  until  the  fierce  blaze  of  criticism  could  be  turned 
on  to  the  government  of  cruelty  and  oppression  there 
was  small  hope  of  freeing  the  people  who  had  suffered  so 
long  in  silence.  O'Connell  was  in  the  front  band  of 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     9 

men  striving  to  arouse  the  sleeping  nation  to  a  sense  of 
its  own  power.  And  nothing  was  going  to  stop  the  on- 
ward movement.  It  pained  him  to  differ  from  Father 
Cahill  —  the  one  friend  of  his  youth.  If  only  he  could 
alter  the  good  priest's  outlook  —  win  him  over  to  the 
great  procession  that  was  marching  surely  and  firmly 
to  self-government,  freedom  of  speech  and  of  action,  and 
to  the  ultimate  making  of  men  of  force  out  of  the  crushed 
and  the  hopeless.  He  would  try. 

"  Father  Cahill,"  he  began  softly,  as  though  the  good 
priest  might  be  wooed  by  sweet  reason  when  the  declama- 
tory force  of  the  orator  failed,  "  don't  ye  think  it  would 
be  wiser  to  attend  a  little  more  to  the  people's  bodies 
than  to  their  souls?  to  their  brains  rather  than  to  their 
hearts?  Don't  ye?" 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  hotly  answered  the  priest. 

"  Well,  if  ye  did"  said  the  agitator,  "  if  more  priests 
did,  it's  a  different  Ireland  we'd  be  livin'  in  to-day  — 
that  we  would.  The  Christian's  heaven  seems  so  far 
away  when  he's  livin'  in  hell.  Try  to  make  earth  more 
like  a  heaven  and  he'll  be  more  apt  to  listen  to  stories  of 
the  other  one.  Tache  them  to  kape  their  hovels  clean 
and  their  hearts  and  lives  will  have  a  betther  chance  of 
health.  Above  all  broaden  their  minds.  Give  them  ed- 
ucation and  the  Divine  tachin'  will  find  a  surer  restin' 
place.  Ignorance  and  dirt  fill  the  hospitals  and  the 
asylums,  and  it  is  that  so  many  of  the  priests  are  fos- 
terin'." 

"  I'll  not  listen  to  another  wurrd,"  cried  Father  Ca- 
hill, turning  away. 

O'Connell  strode  in  front  of  him. 

"  Wait.  There's  another  thing.  I've  heard  more 
than  one  priest  boast  that  there  was  less  sin  in  the  vil- 
lages of  Ireland  than  in  any  other  country.  And  why? 


10  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

What  is  yer  great  cure  for  vice?  Marriage  —  isn't 
it?" 

"What  are  ye  sayin'?" 

"  I'm  sayin'  this,  Father  Cahill.  If  a  boy  looks  at  a 
girl  twice,  what  do  ye  do?  Engage  them  to  be  married. 
To  you  marriage  is  the  safeguard  against  sin.  And 
what  are  such  marriages  ?  Hunger  marryin'  thirst ! 
Poverty  united  to  misery !  Men  and  women  ignorant  and 
stunted  in  mind  and  body,  bound  together  by  a  sacra- 
ment, givin'  them  the  right  to  bring  others,  equally  dis- 
torted, into  the  wurrld.  And  when  they're  born  you 
baptise  them,  and  you  have  more  souls  entered  on  the 
great  register  for  the  Holy  Church.  Bodies  livin'  in 
perpetual  torment,  with  a  heaven  wavin'  at  them  all 
through  their  lives  as  a  reward  for  their  suffering  here. 
I  tell  ye  ye're  wrong!  Ye're  wrong!  Ye're  wrong! 
The  misery  of  such  marriages  will  reach  through  all  the 
generations  to  come.  I'd  rather  see  vice  —  vice  that 
burns  out  and  leaves  scar-white  the  lives  it  scorches. 
There  is  more  sin  in  the  hearts  and  minds  of  these  poor, 
wretched,  ill-mated  people  than  in  the  sinks  of  Europe. 
There  is  some  hope  for  the  vicious.  Intelligence  and 
common-sense  will  wean  them  from  it.  But  there 
is  no  hope  for  the  people  whose  lives  from  the  cradle 
to  the  grave  are  drab  and  empty  and  sordid  and 
wretched." 

As  O'Connell  uttered  this  terrible  arraignment  of  the 
old  order  of  protecting  society  by  early  and  indiscrimi- 
nate marriages,  it  seemed  as  if  the  mantle  of  some  mod- 
ern prophet  had  fallen  on  him.  He  had  struck  at  the 
real  keynote  of  Ireland's  misery  to-day.  The  spirit  of 
oppression  followed  them  into  the  privacy  of  their  lives. 
Even  their  wives  were  chosen  for  them  by  their  teachers. 
Small  wonder  the  English  government  could  enforce  bru- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      11 

tal  and  unjust  laws  when  the  very  freedom  of  choosing 
their  mates  and  of  having  any  voice  in  the  control  of 
their  own  homes  was  denied  them. 

To  Father  Cahill  such  words  were  blasphemy.  He 
looked  at  O'Connell  in  horror. 

"  Have  ye  done  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  What  else  I  may  have  to  say  will  be  said  on  St.  Ker- 
nan's  Hill  this  afternoon." 

"  There  will  be  no  meetin'  there  to-day,"  cried  the 
priest. 

"  Come  and  listen  to  it,"  replied  the  agitator. 

"  I've  forbidden  my  people  to  go." 

"  They'll  come  if  I  have  to  drag  them  from  their 
homes." 

"  I've  warned  the  resident-magistrate.  The  police 
will  be  there  if  ye  thry  to  hold  a  meetin'." 

"  We'll  outnumber  them  ten  to  one." 

"  There'll  be  riotin'  and  death." 

"  Better  to  die  in  a  good  cause  than  to  live  in  a  bad 
one,"  cried  O'Connell.  "  It's  the  great  dead  who  lead 
the  world  by  their  majesty.  It's  the  bad  livin'  who  keep 
it  back  by  their  infamy." 

"  Don't  do  this,  Frank  O'Connell.  I  ask  you  in  the 
name  of  the  Church  in  which  ye  were  baptised  —  by  me." 

"  I'll  do  it  in  the  name  of  the  suffering  people  I  was 
born  among." 

"  I   command  you !     Don't  do  this  !  " 

"  I  can  hear  only  the  voice  of  my  dead  father  saying : 
4  Go  on!'" 

"  I  entreat  you  —  don't !  " 

"  My  father's  voice  is  louder  than  yours,  Father  Ca- 
"hill."  " 

"  Have  an  old  man's  tears  no  power  to  move  ye?  " 

O'Connell  looked  at  the  priest.     Tears  were  stream- 


12  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

ing  down  his  cheeks.  He  made  no  effort  to  staunch 
them.  O'Connell  hesitated,  then  he  said  firmly: 

"  My  father  wept  in  the  ditch  when  he  was  dyin',  dyin' 
in  sight  of  his  home.  Mine  was  the  only  hand  that 
wiped  away  his  tears.  I  can  see  only  his  to-day,  Fa- 
ther." 

"  I'll  make  my  last  appeal.  What  good  can  this 
meetin'  do?  Ye  say  the  people  are  ignorant  and 
wretched.  Why  have  them  batthered  and  shot  down  by 
the  soldiers?  " 

"  It  has  always  been  the  martyrs  who  have  made  a 
cause.  I  am  willin'  to  be  ene.  I'd  be  a  thraitor  if  I 
passed  my  life  without  lifting  my  voice  and  my  hands 
against  my  people's  oppressors." 

"  Ye're  throwin'  yer  life  away,  Frank  O'Connell." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  the  first  and  I  won't  be  the  last." 

"  Nothing  will  move  ye?  "  cried  the  priest. 

"  One  thing  only,"  replied  the  agitator. 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  Death !  "  and  O'Connell  strode  abruptly  away. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PANORAMA  OF  A  LOST  YOUTH 

As  O'Connell  hurried  through  the  streets  of  the  little 
village  thoughts  surged  madly  through  his  brain.  It 
was  in  this  barren  spot  he  was  born  and  passed  his  youth. 
Youth!  A  period  of  poverty  and  struggle:  of  empty 
dreams  and  futile  hopes.  It  passed  before  him  now  as 
a  panorama.  There  was  the  doctor's  house  where  his  fa- 
ther hurried  the  night  he  was  born.  How  often  had  his 
mother  told  him  of  that  night  of  storm  when  she  gave  her 
last  gleam  of  strength  in  giving  him  life!  In  storm 
he  was  born :  in  strife  he  would  live.  The  mark  was  on 
him. 

Now  he  came  to  the  little  schoolhouse  where  he  first 
learned  to  read.  Facing  it  Father  Cahill's  tiny  church, 
where  he  had  learned  to  pray.  Beyond  lay  the  green 
on  which  he  had  his  first  fight.  It  was  about  his  father. 
Bruised  and  bleeding,  he  crept  home  that  day  —  beaten. 
His  mother  cried  over  him  and  washed  his  cuts  and 
bathed  his  bruises.  A  flush  of  shame  crept  across  his 
face  as  he  thought  of  that  beating.  The  result  of  our 
first  battle  stays  with  us  through  life.  He  watched 
his  conqueror,  he  remembered  for  years.  He  had  but 
one  ambition  in  those  days  —  to  gain  sufficient  strength 
to  wipe  out  that  disgrace.  He  trained  his  muscles. 
He  ran  on  the  roards  at  early  morning  until  his  breathing 
was  good.  He  made  friends  with  an  English  soldier 
stationed  in  the  town,  by  doing  him  some  slight  service. 
The  man  had  learned  boxing  in  London  and  could  beat 
any  one  in  his  regiment.  O'Connell  asked  the  man  to 

13 


14  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

teach  him  boxing.  The  soldier  agreed.  He  found  the 
boy  an  apt  pupil.  O'Connell  mastered  the  art  of  self- 
defence.  He  learned  the  vulnerable  points  of  attack. 
Then  he  waited  his  opportunity.  One  half-holiday,  when 
the  schoolboys  were  playing  on  the  green,  he  walked  up 
deliberately  to  his  conqueror  and  challenged  him  to  a 
return  engagement.  The  boys  crowded  around  them. 

"  Is  it  another  batin'  ye'd  be  afther  havin%  ye  beggar- 
man's  son  ?  "  said  the  enemy. 

O'Connell's  reply  was  a  well-timed  punch  on  that 
youth's  jaw,  and  the  second  battle  was  on. 

As  O'Connell  fought  he  remembered  every  blow  of 
the  first  fight  when,  weak  and  unskilful,  he  was  an  easy 
prey  for  his  victor. 

"  That's  for  the  one  ye  gave  me  two  years  ago,  Mar- 
tin Quinlan,"  cried  O'Connell,  as  he  closed  that  youth's 
right  eye,  and  stepped  nimbly  back  from  a  furious 
counter. 

"  And  it's  a  bloody  nose  ye'll  have,  too,"  as  he  drove 
his  left  with  deadly  precision  on  Quinlan's  olfactory  or- 
gan, staggering  that  amazed  youth,  who,  nothing 
daunted,  ran  into  a  series  of  jabs  and  swings  that  com- 
pletely dazed  him  and  forced  him  to  clinch  to  save  fur- 
ther damage.  But  the  fighting  blood  of  O'Connell  was 
up.  He  beat  Quinlan  out  of  the  clinch  with  a  well-timed 
upper-cut  that  put  the  youth  upon  his  back  on  the  green. 

"  Now  take  back  that  '  beggar-man's  '  son !  "  shouted 
O'Connell. 

"  I'll  not,"  from  the  grass. 

"  Then  get  up  and  be  beaten,"  screamed  O'Connell. 
The  boys  danced  around  them.  It  was  too  good  to  be 
true.  Quinlan  had  thrashed  them  all,  and  here  was  the 
apparently  weakest  of  them  —  white-faced  O'Connell  — 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      15 

thrashing  him.  Why,  if  O'Connell  could  best  him,  they 
all  could.  The  reign  of  tyranny  was  over. 

"  Fight !  Fight !  "  they  shouted,  as  they  crowded 
around  the  combatants. 

Quinlan  rose  to  his  feet  only  to  be  put  back  again  on 
the  ground  by  a  straight  right  in  the  mouth.  He  felt 
the  warm  blood  against  his  lips  and  tasted  the  salt  on  his 
tongue.  It  maddened  him.  He  staggered  up  and  rushed 
with  all  his  force  against  O'Connell,  who  stepped  aside 
and  caught  Quinlan  as  he  stumbled  past  full  behind  the 
ear.  He  pitched  forward  on  his  face  and  did  not  move. 
The  battle  was  over. 

"  And  I'll  serve  just  the  same  any  that  sez  a  word 
against  me  father !  " 

Not  a  boy  said  a  word. 

*'  Fighting  O'Connell  "  he  was  nicknamed  that  day, 
and  "  Fighting  O'Connell  "  he  was  known  years  after- 
wards to  Dublin  Castle. 

When  he  showed  his  mother  his  bruised  knuckles  that 
night  and  told  her  how  he  came  by  them,  she  cried  again  as 
she  did  two  years  before.  Only  this  time  they  were  tears 
of  pride. 

From  door  to  door  he  went. 

"  St.  Kernan's  Hill  at  three,"  was  all  he  said.  Some 
nodded,  some  said  nothing,  others  agreed  volubly.  On 
all  their  faces  he  read  that  they  would  be  there. 

On  through  the  village  he  went  until  he  reached  the 
outskirts.  He  paused  and  looked  around.  There  was 
the  spot  on  which  the  little  cabin  he  was  born  in  and  in 
which  his  mother  died,  had  stood.  It  had  long  since 
been  pulled  down  for  improvements.  Not  a  sign  to 
mark  the  tomb  of  his  youth.  It  was  here  they  placed 
his  father  that  bleak  November  day  —  here  by  the  ditch. 


16  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

It  was  here  his  father  gave  up  the  struggle.  The  feeble 
pulse  ebbed.  The  flame  died  out. 

The  years  stripped  back.  It  seemed  as  yesterday. 
And  here  he  stood  grown  to  manhood.  He  needed  just 
that  reminder  to  stir  his  blood  and  nerve  him  for  the  or- 
deal of  St.  Kernan's  Hill. 

The  old  order  was  dying  out  in  Ireland. 

The  days  of  spiritless  bending  to  the  yoke  were  over. 
It  was  a  "  Young  Ireland  "  he  belonged  to  and  meant 
to  lead.  A  "  Young  Ireland "  with  an  inheritance  of 
oppression  and  slavery  to  wipe  out.  A  "  Young  Ire- 
land "  that  demanded  to  be  heard :  that  meant  to  act : 
that  would  fight  step  by  step  in  the  march  to  Westmin- 
ster to  compel  recognition  of  their  just  claims.  And  he 
was  to  be  one  of  their  leaders.  He  squared  his  shoul- 
ders as  he  looked  for  the  last  time  on  the  little  spot  of 
earth  that  once  meant  "  Home  "  to  him. 

He  took  in  a  deep  breath  and  muttered  through  his 
clenched  teeth: 

"  Let  the  march  begin  to-day.  Forward ! "  and  he 
turned  toward  St.  Kernan's  Hill. 


CHAPTER  III 

ST.  KERNAN'S  HILL 

To  the  summit  of  the  hill  climbed  up  men,  women  and 
children.  The  men  grimy  and  toil-worn ;  a  look  of  hope- 
lessness in  their  eyes:  the  sob  of  misery  in  their  voices. 
Dragging  themselves  up  after  them  came  the  women  — 
some  pressing  babies  to  their  breasts,  others  leading  lit- 
tle children  by  the  hand.  The  men  had  begged  them  to 
stay  at  home.  There  might  be  bad  work  that  day,  but 
the  women  had  answered: 

"  If  we  go  they  won't  hurt  you!  "  and  they  pressed  on 
after  the  leaders. 

At  three  o'clock  O'Connell  ascended  the  hill  and  stood 
alone  on  the  great  mount. 

A  cry  of  greeting  went  up. 

He  raised  his  hand  in  acknowledgment. 

It  was  strange  indeed  for  him  to  stand  there  looking 
down  at  the  people  he  had  known  since  childhood.  A 
thousand  conflicting  emotions  swept  through  him  as  he 
looked  at  the  men  and  women  whom,  only  a  little  while 
ago,  it  seemed,  he  had  known  as  children.  Then  he  bent 
to  their  will.  The  son  of  a  peasant,  he  was  amongst 
the  poorest  of  the  poor.  Now  he  came  amongst  them 
to  try  and  lift  them  from  the  depths  he  had  risen  from 
himself. 

"  It  is  Frankie  O'Connell  himself,"  cried  a  voice. 

"  Him  we  knew  as  a  baby,"  said  another. 

"Fightin'  O'Connell!  Hooray  for  him!"  shouted  a 
third. 

"  Mary's  own  child  standin'  up  there  tall  and  straight 

17 


18  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

to  get  us  freedom  and  comfort,"  crooned  an  old  white- 
haired  woman. 

"  And  broken  heads,"  said  another  old  woman. 

"  And  lyin'  in  the  county- j  ail  himself,  mebbe,  this 
night,"  said  a  third. 

"  The  Lord  be  with  him,"  cried  a  fourth. 

"  Amen  to  that,"  and  they  reverently  crossed  them- 
selves. 

Again  O'Connell  raised  his  hand,  this  time  to  command 
silence. 

All  the  murmurs  died  away. 

O'Connell  began  —  his  rich,  melodious  voice  ringing 
far  beyond  the  farthest  limits  of  the  crowd  —  the  music 
of  his  Irish  brogue  making  cadences  of  entreaty  and 
again  lashing  the  people  into  fury  at  the  memory  of  Ire- 
land's wrongs. 

"  Irish  men  and  women,  we  are  met  here  to-day  in  the 
sight  of  God  and  in  defiance  of  the  English  government," 
(groans  and  hisses),  "  to  clasp  hands,  to  unite  our 
thoughts  and  to  nerve  our  bodies  to  the  supreme  effort 
of  bringing  hope  to  despair,  freedom  to  slavery,  pros- 
perity to  the  land  and  happiness  to  our  homes."  (Loud 
applause. )  "  Too  long  have  our  forefathers  lived  un- 
der the  yoke  of  the  oppressor.  Too  long  have  our  old 
been  buried  in  paupers'  graves  afther  lives  of  misery  no 
other  counthry  in  the  wurrld  can  equal.  Why  should 
it  be  the  lot  of  our  people  —  men  and  women  born  to  a 
birthright  of  freedom?  Why?  Are  ye  men  of  Ireland 
so  craven  that  aliens  can  rule  ye  as  they  once  ruled  the 
negro?"  ("No,  no!")  "The  African  slave  has  been 
emancipated  and  his  emancipation  was  through  the  blood 
and  tears  of  the  people  who  wronged  him.  Let  our 
emancipation,  then,  be  through  the  blood  and  tears  of 
our  oppressors.  In  other  nations  it  is  the  Irishman  who 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      19 

rules.  It  is  only  in  his  own  counthrj  that  he  is  ruled. 
And  the  debt  of  hathred  and  misery  and  blasted  lives  and 
dead  hopes  is  at  our  door  to-day.  Shall  that  debt  be 
unpaid?"  ("No,  no!")  "Look  around  you.  Look 
at  the  faces  of  yer  brothers  and  sisthers,  worn  and 
starved.  Look  at  yer  women-kind,  old  before  they've 
been  young.  Look  at  the  babies  at  their  mothers' 
breasts,  first  looking  out  on  a  wurrld  in  which  they  will 
never  know  a  happy  thought,  never  feel  a  joyous  impulse, 
never  laugh  with  the  honest  laughther  of  a  free  and  con- 
tented and  God-and-government-protected  people.  Are 
yez  satisfied  with  this?"  (Angry  cries  of  "No, 
no!") 

"  Think  of  yer  hovels  —  scorched  with  the  heat,  blis- 
thered  with  the  wind  and  drenched  with  the  rain,  to  live 
in  which  you  toil  that  their  owners  may  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  yer  slavery  —  in  other  counthries.  Think  of  yer  sons 
and  daughthers  lavin'  this  once  fair  land  in  hundhreds 
of  thousands  to  become  wage-earners  across  the  seas, 
with  their  hearts  aching  for  their  homes  and  their  loved 
ones.  The  fault  is  at  our  own  door.  The  solution  is 
in  our  own  hands.  Isn't  it  betther  to  die,  pike  in  hand, 
fightin'  as  our  forefathers  did,  than  to  rot  in  filth,  and 
die,  lavin'  a  legacy  of  disease  and  pestilence  and  weak 
brains  and  famished  bodies?"  His  voice  cracked  and 
broke  into  a  high-pitched  hysterical  cry  as  he  finished 
the  peroration. 

A  flame  leaped  through  the  mob.  The  men  muttered 
imprecations  as  a  new  light  flashed  from  their  eyes.  All 
their  misery  fell  from  them  as  a  shroud.  They  only 
thought  of  vengeance.  They  were  men  again.  Their 
hearts  beat  as  their  progenitors'  hearts  must  have  beaten 
at  the  Boyne. 

The  great  upheaval  that  flashed  star-like  through  Ire- 


20  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

land  from  epoch  to  epoch,  burned  like  vitriol  in  their 
veins. 

The  women  forgot  their  crying  babies  as  they  pressed 
forward,  screaming  their  paean  of  vengeance  against 
their  oppressors. 

The  crowd  seemed  to  throb  as  some  great  engine  of 
humanity.  It  seemed  to  think  with  one  brain,  beat  with 
one  heart  and  call  with  one  voice. 

The  cry  grew  into  an  angry  roar. 

Suddenly  Father  Cahill  appeared  amongst  them. 

"  Go  back  to  your  homes,"  he  commanded,  breath- 
lessly. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  shouted  O'Connell. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Catholic  Church,  go ! "  said  the 
priest. 

"  In  the  name  of  our  down-trodden  and  suffering  peo- 
ple, stay !  "  thundered  O'Connell. 

"  Don't  listen  to  him.     Listen  to  the  voice  of  God !  " 

"  God's  help  comes  to  those  who  help  themselves,"  an- 
swered the  agitator. 

Father  Cahill  made  his  last  and  strongest  appeal : 

"  My  poor  children,  the  constabulary  are  coming  to 
break  up  the  meetin'  and  to  arrest  him." 

"  Let  them  come,"  cried  O'Connell.  "  Show  them 
that  the  spirit  of  Irish  manhood  is  not  dead.  Show 
them  that  we  still  have  the  power  and  the  courage  to 
defy  them.  Tell  them  we'll  meet  when  and  where  we 
think  fit.  That  we'll  not  silence  our  voices  while  there's 
breath  in  our  bodies.  That  we'll  resist  their  tyranny 
while  we've  strength  to  shouldher  a  gun  or  handle  a  pike. 
I  appeal  to  you,  O  Irishmen,  in  the  name  of  yer  broken 
homes ;  in  the  name  of  all  that  makes  life  glorious  and 
death  divine !  In  the  name  of  yer  maimed  and  yer  dead ! 
Of  yer  brothers  in  prison  and  in  exile !  By  the  listenin* 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      21 

earth  and  the  watching  sky  I  appeal  to  ye  to  make  yer 
ttand  to-day.  I  implore  ye  to  join  yer  hearts  and  yer 
lives  with  mine.  Lift  yer  voices  with  me:  stretch  forth 
yer  hands  with  mine  and  by  yer  hopes  of  happiness  here 
and  peace  hereafter  give  an  oath  to  heaven  never  to 
cease  fightin'  until  freedom  and  light  come  to  this  un- 
happy land! 

"  Swear  by  all  ye  hold  most  dear :  by  the  God  who 
gave  ye  life:  by  the  memory  of  all  ye  hold  most  sacred: 
by  the  sorrow  for  yer  women  and  children  who  have  died 
of  hunger  and  heart-break:  stretch  forth  yer  hands 
and  swear  to  give  yer  lives  so  that  the  generations  to 
come  may  know  happiness  and  peace  and  freedom. 
Swear ! " 

He  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  adjuration,  his  right 
hand  held  high  above  his  head,  his  left  —  palm  upward, 
stretched  forward  in  an  attitude  of  entreaty. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  soul  of  the  man  was  pleading 
with  them  to  take  the  oath  that  would  bind  their  souls 
to  the  "  Cause." 

Crowding  around  him,  eyes  blazing,  breasts  heaving, 
as  if  impelled  by  one  common  thought,  the  men  and 
women  clamoured  with  outstretched  hands : 

"We  swear!" 

In  that  moment  of  exaltation  it  seemed  as  if  the  old 
Saint-Martyrs'  halo  glowed  over  each,  as  they  took  the 
oath  that  pledged  them  to  the  "  Cause," —  the  Cause  that 
meant  the  lifting  of  oppression  and  tyranny:  immunity 
from  "  buckshot "  and  the  prison-cell :  from  famine  and 
murder  and  coercion  —  all  the  component  parts  of  Ire- 
land's torture  in  her  struggle  for  her  right  to  self-gov- 
ernment. 

A  moment  later  the  crowd  was  hushed.  A  tremour 
ran  through  it. 


22  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

The  sounds  of  marching  troops :  the  unintelligible 
words  of  command,  broke  in  on  them. 

Father  Cahill  plunged  in  amongst  them.  "  The  con- 
stabulary," he  cried.  "  Back  to  your  homes." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  shouted  O'Connell. 

"  I  beg  you,  my  children !  I  command  you !  I  en- 
treat you !  Don't  have  bloodshed  here  to-day  1 "  Fa- 
ther Cahill  turned  distractedly  to  O'Connell,  crying  out 
to  him : 

"  Tell  them  to  go  back !  My  poor  people !  Tell 
them  to  go  back  to  their  homes  while  there's  time." 

Turning  his  back  on  the  priest,  O'Connell  faced  the 
crowd : 

"  You  have  taken  your  oath.  Would  you  perjure 
yourselves  at  this  old  man's  bidding?  See  where  the 
soldiers  come.  Look  —  and  look  well  at  them.  Their 
uniforms  stand  for  the  badge  of  tyranny.  The  glint 
of  their  muskets  is  the  message  from  their  illustrious  sov- 
ereign of  her  feeling  to  this  part  of  her  kingdom.  We 
ask  for  justice  and  they  send  us  bullets.  We  cry  for 
'  Liberty  *  and  the  answer  is  *  Death  '  at  the  hands  of  her 
soldiers.  We  accept  the  challenge.  Put  yer  women  and 
childhren  behind  you.  Let  no  man  move." 

The  men  hurriedly  placed  the  women  and  children  so 
that  they  were  protected  from  the  first  onslaught  of  the 
soldiery. 

Then  the  men  of  St.  Kernan's  Hill,  armed  with  huge 
stones  and  sticks,  turned  to  meet  the  troops. 

Mr.  Roche,  the  resident-magistrate,  rode  at  their  head. 

"  Arrest  that  man,"  he  cried,  pointing  to  O'Connell. 

An  angry  growl  went  up  from  the  mob. 

Father  Cahill  hurried  to  him : 

"  Don't  interfere  with  them,  Mr.  Roche.     For  the  love 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      23 

of  heaven,  don't.  There'll  be  murder  here  to-day  if  ye 
do." 

"  I  have  my  instructions,  Father  Cahill,  and  it's  sorry 
I  am  to  have  to  act  under  them  to-day." 

"  It  isn't  the  people's  fault,"  pleaded  the  priest ;  "  in- 
deed it  isn't." 

"  We  don't  wish  to  hurt  them.  We  want  that  man 
O'Connell." 

"  They'll  never  give  him  up.  Wait  till  to-night  and 
take  him  quietly." 

"  No,  we'll  take  him  here.  He's  given  the  police  the 
slip  in  many  parts  of  the  country.  He  won't  to-day." 
The  magistrate  pushed  forward  on  his  horse  through 
the  fringe  on  the  front  part  of  the  crowd  and  reined  up 
at  the  foot  of  the  mount. 

"  Frank  Owen  O'Connell,  I  arrest  you  in  the  Queen's 
name  for  inciting  peaceable  citizens  to  violence,"  he 
called  up  to  the  agitator. 

"  Arrest  me  yerself,  Mr.  Magistrate  Roche,"  replied 
O'Connell. 

Turning  to  an  officer  Roche  motioned  him  to  seize 
O'Connell. 

As  the  officer  pressed  forward  he  was  felled  by  a  blow 
from  a  heavy  stick. 

In  a  second  the  fight  was  on. 

The  magistrate  read  the  riot-act. 

He,  together  with  Father  Cahill,  called  to  the  mob 
to  stop.  They  shouted  to  O'Connell  to  surrender  and 
disperse  the  people. 

Too  late. 

The  soldiers  formed  into  open  formation  and  marched 
on  the  mob. 

Maddened  and   reeling,  with  no  order,  no  discipline, 


24  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

with  only  blind  fury  and  the  rushing,  pulsing  blood 
—  that  has  won  many  a  battle  for  England  against  a 
common  foe  —  the  men  of  Ireland  hurled  themselves 
upon  the  soldiers.  They  threw  their  missiles:  they 
struck  them  with  their  gnarled  sticks:  they  beat  them 
with  their  clenched  fists. 

The  order  to  "  Fire  "  was  given  as  the  soldiers  fell 
back  from  the  onslaught. 

When  the  smoke  cleared  away  the  ranks  of  the  mob 
were  broken.  Some  lay  dead  on  the  turf;  some  groaned 
in  the  agony  of  shattered  limbs.  The  women  threw 
themselves  moaning  on  the  bodies.  Silence  fell  like  a  pall 
over  the  mob.  Out  of  the  silence  a  low  angry  growl 
went  up.  O'Connell  had  fallen  too. 

The  soldiers  surrounded  his  prostrate  body. 

The  mob  made  a  rush  forward  to  rescue  him. 
O'Connell  stopped  them  with  a  cry: 

"  Enough  for  to-day,  my  men."  He  pointed  to  the 
wounded  and  dying :  "  Live  to  avenge  them.  Wait  un- 
til <  The  Day  ' !  "  His  voice  failed.  He  fell  back  un- 
conscious. 

Into  the  midst  of  the  crowd  and  through  the  ranks 
of  the  soldiers  suddenly  rode  a  young  girl,  barely  twenty 
years  old.  Beside  her  was  a  terrified  groom.  She 
guided  her  horse  straight  to  the  magistrate.  He  raised 
his  hat  and  muttered  a  greeting,  with  a  glance  of  rec- 
ognition. 

"  Have  him  taken  to  '  The  Gap,'  "  she  said  impera- 
tively, pointing  to  the  motionless  body  of  O'Connell. 

"  He  is  under  arrest,"  replied  the  magistrate. 

"  Do  you  want  another  death  on  your  hands  ? 
Haven't  you  done  enough  in  killing  and  maiming  those 
unfortunate  people? "  She  looked  with  pity  on  the 


THE  ROMANCE  uF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      25 

moaning  women:  and  then  with  contempt  on  the  officer 
who  gave  the  order  to  fire. 

"  You  ought  to  be  proud  of  your  work  to-day ! "  she 
said. 

"  I  only  carried  out  my  orders,"  replied  the  man  hum- 
bly. 

"  Have  that  man  taken  to  my  brother's  house.  He 
will  surrender  him  or  go  bail  for  him  until  he  has  been 
attended  to.  First  let  us  save  him."  The  girl  dis- 
mounted and  made  a  litter  of  some  fallen  branches,  as- 
sisted by  the  groom. 

"  Order  some  of  your  men  to  carry  him." 

There  was  a  note  of  command  in  her  tone  that  awed 
both  the  officer  and  the  magistrate. 

Four  men  were  detailed  to  carry  the  body  on  the  lit- 
ter. 

The  girl  remounted.  Turning  to  the  magistrate,  she 
said: 

"  Tell  your  government,  Mr.  Roche,  that  their  sol- 
diers shot  down  these  unarmed  people."  Then  she 
wheeled  round  to  the  mob: 

"  Go  back  to  your  homes."  She  pointed  to  the  dead 
and  wounded :  **  They  have  died  or  been  maimed  for 
their  Cause.  Do  as  lie  said,"  pointing  to  the  uncon- 
scious O'Connell,  "  Live  for  it !  " 

She  started  down  through  the  valley,  followed  by  the 
litter-bearers  and  the  magistrate. 

The  officer  gave  the  word  of  command,  and,  with  some 
of  the  ringleaders  in  their  midst,  the  soldiers  marched 
away. 

Left  alone  with  their  dying  and  their  dead,  all  the 
ferocity  left  the  poor,  crushed  peasants. 

They  knelt  down  sobbing  over  the  motionless  bodies. 


26  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

For  the  time  being  the  Law  and  its  officers  were  tri- 
umphant. 

This  was  the  act  of  the  representatives  of  the  Eng- 
lish government  in  the  year  of  civilisation  18 — ,  and 
in  the  reign  of  her  late  Gracious  Majesty,  Queen  Vic- 
toria, by  the  grace  of  God,  Empress  of  India. 


CHAPTER  IV 

NATHANIEL  KINGSNORTH  VISITS  IRELAND 

WHILE  the  incidents  of  the  foregoing  chapters  were 
taking  place,  the  gentleman  whose  ownership  shaped  the 
destinies  of  many  of  the  agitators  of  St.  Kernan's  Hill, 
was  confronting  almost  as  difficult  a  problem  as  O'Con- 
nell  was  facing  on  the  mount. 

Whilst  O'Connell  was  pleading  for  the  right  of  Ireland 
to  govern  herself,  Mr.  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth  was  endeav- 
ouring to  understand  how  to  manage  so  unwieldy  and  so 
troublesome  an  estate. 

The  death  of  his  father  placed  a  somewhat  extensive 
—  and  so  far  entirely  unprofitable  —  portion  of  the  vil- 
lage in  his  care.  His  late  father  had  complained  all  his 
life  of  the  depreciation  of  values ;  the  growing  reluctance 
to  pay  rents ;  and  the  general  dying-out  of  the  worth 
of  an  estate  that  had  passed  into  the  hands  of  a  Kings- 
north  many  generations  before  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
business,  for  notes  that  had  not  been  taken  up,  and 
mortgages  that  had  been  foreclosed. 

It  was  the  open  boast  of  the  old  gentleman  that  he 
had  never  seen  the  village,  and  it  was  one  of  his  dying 
gratifications  that  he  would  never  have  to. 

He  had  all  the  racial  antipathy  of  a  certain  type  of 
Englishmen  to  anything  Irish.  The  word  itself  was  un- 
pleasant to  his  ears.  He  never  heard  it  without  a  shud- 
der, and  his  intimates,  at  his  request,  refrained  from  us- 
ing it  in  his  presence.  The  word  represented  to  him  all 
that  was  unsavoury,  unpatriotic  and  unprincipled. 

One  phrase  of  his,  in  speaking  of  Ireland  at  a  ban- 

37 


28  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

quet,  achieved  the  dignity  of  being  printed  in  all  the 
great  London  daily  papers  and  was  followed  by  a 
splenetic  attack  in  the  "  Irish  Nation."  Both  incidents 
pleased  the  old  gentleman  beyond  measure.  It  was  an 
unfailing  source  of  gratification  to  him  that  he  had 
coined  the  historical  utterance.  He  quoted  it  with  a 
grim  chuckle  on  the  few  occasions  when  some  guest,  un- 
familiar with  his  prejudice,  would  mention  in  his  pres- 
ence the  hated  word  "  Ireland." 

It  appears  that  one  particularly  hard  winter,  when, 
for  some  unnecessary  and  wholly  unwarrantable  reason, 
the  potato-crop  had  failed,  and  the  little  Irish  village 
was  in  a  condition  of  desperate  distress,  it  was  found 
impossible  to  collect  more -than  a  tithe  of  Mr.  Kings- 
north's  just  dues.  No  persuasion  could  make  the  obsti- 
nate tenants  pay  their  rents.  Threats,  law-proceedings, 
evictions  —  all  were  useless.  They  simply  would  not  pay. 
His  agent  finally  admitted  himself  beaten.  Mr.  Kings- 
north  must  wait  for  better  times. 

Furious  at  his  diminished  income  and  hating,  with  a 
bitter  hatred,  the  disloyal  and  cheating  tenantry,  he  rose 
at  a  Guildhall  banquet  to  reply  to  the  toast  of  "  The 
Colonies." 

He  drew  vivid  pictures  of  the  splendour  of  the  British 
possessions :  of  India  —  that  golden  and  loyal  Empire ; 
Australia  with  its  hidden  mines  of  wealth,  whose  soil  had 
scarce  been  scratched,  peopled  by  patriotic,  zealous  and 
toiling  millions,  honestly  paying  their  way  through  life 
by  the  sweat  of  their  God-and-Queen-fearing  brows. 
What  an  example  to  the  world!  A  country  where  the 
wage-.earner  hurried,  with  eager  footsteps,  to  place  the 
honestly  earned  tolls  at  the  feet  of  generous  and  trusting 
landlords ! 

Then,  on  the  other  hand,  he  pointed  to  that  small  por- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      29 

tion  of  the  British  Isles,  where  to  pay  rent  was  a  crime : 
where  landlords  were  but  targets  for  insult  and  vitupera- 
tion —  yes,  and  indeed  for  bullets  from  the  hidden  assas- 
sin whenever  they  were  indiscreet  enough  to  visit  a 
country  where  laws  existed  but  that  they  might  be 
broken,  and  crime  stalked  fearlessly  through  the  land. 
Such  a  condition  was  a  reproach  to  the  English  govern- 
ment. 

"  Why,"  he  asked  the  astonished  gathering  of  digni- 
taries, "  why  should  such  a  condition  exist  when  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  men  sat  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
sent  there  by  electors  to  administer  the  just  and  wise  laws 
of  a  just  and  wise  country?  Why?  " 

As  he  paused  and  glared  around  the  table  for  the  reply 
that  was  not  forthcoming,  the  undying  phrase  sprang 
new-born  from  his  lips : 

"  Oh,"  he  cried ;  "  oh !  that  for  one  brief  hour  Provi- 
dence would  immerse  that  island  of  discontent  beneath  the 
waters  of  the  Atlantic  and  destroy  a  people  who  seemed 
bent  on  destroying  themselves  and  on  disintegrating 
the  majesty  and  dignity  and  honour  of  our  great  Em- 
pire!" 

Feeling  that  no  words  of  his  could  follow  so  marvellous 
a  climax,  he  sat  down,  amid  a  silence  that  seemed  to  him 
to  be  fraught  with  eloquence,  so  impressive  and  significant 
was  —  to  him  —  its  full  meaning.  Some  speeches  are 
cheered  vulgarly.  It  was  the  outward  sign  of  coarse  ap- 
proval. Others  are  enjoyed  and  sympathised  with  in- 
wardly, and  the  outward  tribute  to  which  was  silence  — 
and  that  was  the  tribute  of  that  particular  Guildhall 
gathering  on  that  great  night. 

It  seemed  to  Wilber force  Kingsnorth,  hardened  after- 
dinner  speaker  though  he  was,  that  never  had  a  body  of 
men  such  as  he  confronted  and  who  met  his  gaze  by  drop- 


30  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

ping  their  eyes  modestly  to  their  glasses,  been  so  gen- 
uinely thrilled  by  so  original,  so  comprehensive  and  so 
dramatic  a  conclusion  to  a  powerful  appeal. 

Kingsnorth  felt,  as  he  sat  down,  that  it  was  indeed  a 
red-letter  night  for  him  —  and  for  England. 

The  Times,  in  reviewing  the  speeches  the  following 
morning,  significantly  commented  that : 

"  Mr.  Kingsnorth  had  solved,  in  a  moment  of  entreaty, 
to  a  hitherto  indifferent  Providence,  the  entire  Irish  diffi- 
culty." 

When  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth  found  himself  the  fortu- 
nate possessor  of  this  tract  of  land  peopled  by  so  lawless 
a  race,  he  determined  to  see  for  himself  what  the  con- 
ditions really  were,  so  for  the  first  time  since  they  owned 
a  portion  of  it,  a  Kingsnorth  set  foot  on  Irish  soil. 

Accompanied  by  his  two  sisters  he  arrived  quietly 
some  few  weeks  before  and  addressed  himself  at  once  to 
the  task  of  understanding  the  people  and  the  circum- 
stances in  which  they  lived. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  he  was  occupied  with  his 
agent,  going  systematically  through  the  details  of  the 
management  of  the  estate. 

It  was  indeed  a  discouraging  prospect.  Such  a  condi- 
tion of  pauperism  seemed  incredible  in  a  village  within  a 
few  hours  of  his  own  England.  Except  for  a  few  moder- 
ately thriving  tradesmen,  the  whole  population  seemed  to 
live  from  hand  to  mouth.  The  entire  village  was  in 
debt.  They  owed  the  landlords,  the  tradesmen,  they  even 
owed  each  other  money  and  goods.  It  seemed  to  be  a 
community  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  in  which 
nothing  from  the  outside  ever  entered.  No  money  was 
ever  put  into  the  village.  On  the  contrary  there  was  a 
continuous  withdrawal.  By  present  standards  a  day 
would  come  when  the  last  coin  would  depart  and  the  fa- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      31 

voured  spot  would  be  as  independent  of  money  as  many 
of  the  poorer  people  were  of  clothing. 

It  came  as  a  shock  to  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth.  For  the 
first  time  it  began  to  dawn  on  him  that,  after  all,  the 
agitators  might  really  have  some  cause  to  agitate:  that 
their  attitude  was  not  one  of  merely  fighting  for  the  sake 
of  the  fight.  Yet  a  lingering  suspicion,  borne  of  his 
early  training,  and  his  father's  doctrines  about  Ireland, 
that  Pat  was  really  a  scheming,  dishonest  fellow,  ob- 
truded itself  on  his  mind,  even  as  he  became  more  than 
half  convinced  of  the  little  village's  desperate  plight. 

Nathaniel  loathed  injustice.  As  the  magistrate  of  his 
county  he  punished  dishonesty.  Was  the  condition  he 
saw  due  to  English  injustice  or  Irish  dishonesty?  That 
was  the  problem  that  he  was  endeavouring  to  solve. 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  sixpence  circulating 
through  the  whole  place,"  he  remarked  to  the  agent  when 
that  gentleman  had  concluded  his  statement  of  the  posi- 
tion of  matters. 

"  And  there  never  will  be,  until  some  one  puts  money 
into  the  village  instead  of  taking  it  out  of  it,"  said  the 
agent. 

"  You  refer  to  the  land-owners  ?  " 

"  I  do.  And  it's  many's  the  time  I  wrote  your  father 
them  same  words." 

"  It  is  surely  not  unnatural  for  owners  to  expect  to  be 
paid  for  the  use  of  houses  and  land,  is  it?  We  expect  it 
in  England,"  said  Kingsnorth  drily. 

"  In  England  the  landlord  usually  lives  on  his  estate 
and  takes  some  pride  in  it." 

"  Small  pride  anyone  could  take  in  such  an  estate  as 
this,"  Kingsnorth  laughed  bitterly.  Then  he  went  on: 
"  And  as  for  living  on  it  — ,"  and  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders in  disgust. 


32  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Before  the  Kingsnorths  came  into  possession  the 
MacMahons  lived  on  it,  and  proud  the  people  were  of 
them  and  they  of  the  people,  sir." 

"  I  wish  to  God  they'd  continued  to,"  said  Kingsnorth 
wrathfully. 

"  They  beggared  themselves  for  the  people  —  that's 
what  they  did,  sir.  Improvements  here  —  a  road  there. 
A  quarry  cut  to  give  men  work  and  a  breakwater  built  to 
keep  the  sea  from  washing  away  the  poor  fishermen's 
homes.  And  when  famine  came  not  a  penny  rent  asked 

—  and  their  women-kind  feedin'  and  nursin'  the  starvin' 
and  the  sick.     An'  all  the  time  raisin'  money  to  do  it. 
A  mortgage  on  this  and  a  note  of  hand  for  that  —  until 
the  whole  place  was  plastered  with  debt.     Then  out  they 
were  turned." 

The  agent  moved  away  and  looked  out  across  the  well- 
trimmed  lawn  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

"  Ill-timed  charity  and  business  principles  scarcely  go 
together,  my  good  Burke,"  said  Kingsnorth,  with  ill-con- 
cealed impatience.  He  did  not  like  this  man's  tone.  It 
suggested  a  glorification  of  the  former  bankrupt  landlord 
and  a  lack  of  appreciation  of  the  present  solvent  one. 

"  So  the  English  think,"  Burke  answered. 

Kingsnorth  went  on :  "  If  we  knew  the  whole  truth  we 
would  probably  find  the  very  methods  these  people  used 
were  the  cause  of  the  sorry  condition  this  village  is  in 
now.  No  landlord  has  the  right  to  pauperise  his  ten- 
antry by  giving  them  money  and  their  homes  rent-free. 
It  is  a  man's  duty  and  privilege  to  work.  Independence 

—  that  is  what  a  man  should  aim  at.     The  Irish  are 
always  crying  for  it.     They  never  seem  to  practise  it." 

"  Ye  can't  draw  the  water  out  of  a  kettle  and  expect 
it  to  boil,  sir,  and  by  the  same  token  independence  is  af 
fine  thing  to  tache  to  men  who  are  dependent  on  all." 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      33 

"  Your  sympathies  appear  to  be  entirely  with  the 
people,"  said  Kingsnorth,  looking  shrewdly  and  suspi- 
ciously at  the  agent. 

"  No  one  could  live  here  man  and  boy  and  not  give  it 
to  them,"  answered  Burke. 

"  You're  frank,  anyway." 

*'  Pity  there  are  not  more  like  me,  sir." 

"  I'll  see  what  it  is  possible  to  do  in  the  matter  of  im- 
proving conditions.  Mind  —  I  promise  nothing.  I  put 
my  tenants  on  probation.  It  seems  hopeless.  I'll  start 
works  for  the  really  needy.  If  they  show  a  desire  to  take 
advantage  of  my  interest  in  them  I'll  extend  my  opera- 
tions. If  they  do  not  I'll  stop  everything  and  put  the 
estate  on  the  market." 

Burke  looked  at  him  and  smiled  a  dry,  cracked  smile. 

He  was  a  thin,  active,  grizzled  man,  well  past  fifty, 
with  keen,  shrewd  eyes  that  twinkled  with  humour,  or 
sparkled  with  ferocity,  or  melted  with  sorrow  as  the 
mood  seized  him.  As  he  answered  Kingsnorth  the  eyes 
twinkled. 

"  I'm  sure  it's  grateful  the  poor  people  'ull  be  when 
they  hear  the  good  news  of  yer  honour's  interest  in 
them." 

"  I  hope  so.  Although  history  teaches  us  that  grati- 
tude is  not  a  common  quality  in  Ireland.  '  If  an  Irish- 
man is  being  roasted  you  will  always  find  another  Irish- 
man to  turn  the  spit,5  a  statesman  quoted  in  the  House 
of  Commons  a  few  nights  ago." 

"  That  must  be  why  the  same  statesman  puts  them  in 
prison  for  standin'  by  each  other,  I  suppose,"  said  Burke, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

*  You  are  now  speaking  of  the  curses  of  this  country 
—  the  agitators.  They  are  the  real  cause  of  this  deplor- 
able misery.  Who  will  put  money  into  a  country  that  is 


ridden  by  these  scoundrels  ?  Rid  Ireland  of  agitators  and 
you  advance  her  prosperity  a  hundred  years.  They  are 
the  clogs  on  the  wheel  of  a  nation's  progress."  He 
picked  up  a  copy  of  the  local  newspaper  and  read  a  head- 
line from  one  of  the  columns : 

"  I  see  you  have  agitators  even  here  ?  " 

"  We  have,  sir." 

"  Drive  them  out  of  the  town.  Let  the  people  live 
their  own  lives  without  such  disturbing  elements  in  them. 
Tell  them  distinctly  that  from  the  moment  they  begin  to 
work  for  me  I'll  have  no  *  meetings '  on  my  property. 
Any  of  my  tenants  or  workmen  found  attending  them 
elsewhere  will  be  evicted  and  discharged." 

"  I'll  tell  them,  sir." 

"  I  mean  to  put  that  kind  of  lawlessness  down  with  a 
firm  hand." 

"  If  ye  do  ye'll  be  the  first,  Mr.  Kingsnorth." 

"  There  is  one  I  see  to-day,"  glancing  again  at  the 
paper. 

"  There  is,  sir." 

"  Who  is  this  man  O'Connell?  " 

"  A  native  of  the  village,  sir." 

"  What  is  he  —  a  paid  agitator  ?  " 

"  Faith  there's  little  pay  he  gets,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  Why  don't  the  police  arrest  him  ?  " 

"  Mebbe  they  will,  sir." 

"  I'll  see  that  they  do." 

Burke  smiled. 

"  And  what  do  you  find  so  amusing,  Mr.  Burke  ?  " 

"  It's  a  wondher  the  English  government  doesn't  get 
tired  of  arrestin'  them.  As  fast  as  they  do  others  take 
their  place.  It's  the  persecution  brings  fresh  converts 
to  the  *  Cause.'  Put  one  man  in  jail  and  there'll  be  a 
hundred  new  followers  the  next  day." 


"  We'll  see,"  said  Kingsnorth  firmly.  "  Here  is  one 
district  where  the  law  will  be  enforced.  These  meetings 
and  their  frequent  bloodshed  are  a  disgrace  to  a  civilised 
people." 

"  Ye  may  well  say  that,  yer  honour,"  replied  Burke. 

"  Before  I  invest  one  penny  to  better  the  condition  of 
the  people  I  must  have  their  pledge  to  abandon  such  dis- 
graceful methods  of  trying  to  enlist  sympathy.  I'll  be- 
gin with  this  man  O'Connell.  Have  him  brought  to  me 
to-morrow.  I'll  manage  this  estate  my  own  way  or  I'll 
wash  my  hands  of  it.  My  father  was  often  tempted  to." 

"  He  resisted  the  temptation  though,  sir." 

"  I'm  sorry  he  did.  That  will  do  for  to-day.  Leave 
these  statements.  I'll  go  over  them  again.  It's  hard  to 
make  head  or  tail  of  the  whole  business.  Be  here  to- 
morrow at  ten.  Bring  that  fellow  O'Connell  with  you. 
Also  give  me  a  list  of  some  of  the  more  intelligent  and 
trustworthy  of  the  people  and  I'll  sound  them  as  to  the 
prospects  of  opening  up  work  here.  Drop  them  a  hint 
that  my  interest  is  solely  on  the  understanding  that  this 
senseless  agitation  stops." 

"  I  will,  sir.  To-morrow  morning  at  ten,"  and  Burke 
started  for  the  door. 

"  Oh,  and  —  Burke  —  I  hope  you  are  more  discreet 
with  my  tenants  than  you  have  been  with  me  ?  " 

"  In  what  way,  Mr.  Kingsnorth?  " 

"  I  trust  that  you  confine  your  sympathy  with  them 
to  your  feelings  and  not  give  expression  to  them  in 
words." 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  do,  Mr.  Kingsnorth." 

"  It  would  be  wiser  to  in  future,  Mr.  Burke." 

"  Well,  ye  see,  sir,  I'm  a  man  first  and  an  agent  after- 
wards." 

"  Indeed?  " 


36  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Yes,  sir.  It's  many's  the  ugly  thing  I've  had  to  do 
for  your  father,  and  if  a  kind  word  of  mine  hadn't  gone 
with  it,  it's  precious  little  of  the  estate  would  be  fit  to 
look  at  to-day,  Mr.  Kingsnorth." 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Do  ye  remember  when  Kilkee's  Scotch  steward  evicted 
two  hundred  in  one  day,  sir?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Rade  about  it.     It's  very  enlightenin'." 

"What  happened?" 

"  The  poor  wretched,  evicted  people  burnt  down  every 
dwellin'  and  tree  on  the  place,  sir." 

"  I  would  know  how  to  handle  such  ruffians." 

"  That's  what  Kilkee  thought.  *  Tache  them  a  lesson,* 
said  he.  '  Turn  them  into  the  ditches ! '  And  he  did. 
He  thought  he  knew  how  to  handle  them.  He  woke  up 
with  a  jump  one  mornin'  when  he  found  a  letter  from  the 
under-steward  tellin'  him  his  Scotch  master  was  in  the 
hospital  with  a  bullet  in  his  spleen,  and  the  beautiful 
house  and  grounds  were  just  so  much  blackened  ashes." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  my  good  man,  there  is  a  note  of 
agreement  with  such  methods,  in  your  tone." 

"  Manin'  the  evictin'  or  the  burnin',  yer  honour?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  and  Kingsnorth's  voice  rose 
angrily. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  answered  Burke  quietly. 

"  I  want  an  agent  who  is  devoted  to  my  interests  and 
to  whom  the  people  are  secondary." 

"  Then  ye'd  betther  send  to  England  for  one,  sir. 
The  men  devoted  to  landlords  and  against  the  people 
are  precious  few  in  this  part  of  Ireland,  sir." 

"  Do  you  intend  that  I  should  act  on  that  ?  " 

"  If  ye  wish.     Ye  can  have  my  time  at  a  price,  but  ye 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      37 

won't  have  my  independence  for  any  sum  ye  like  to 
offer." 

"  Very  well.  Send  me  your  resignation,  to  take  effect 
one  month  from  to-day." 

"  It's  grateful  I  am,  Mr.  Kingsnorth,"  and  he  went 
out. 

In  through  the  open  window  came  the  sound  of  the 
tramping  of  many  feet  and  the  whisper  of  subdued  voices. 

Kingsnorth  hurried  out  on  to  the  path  and  saw  a  num- 
ber of  men  and  women  walking  slowly  down  the  drive,  in 
the  centre  of  which  the  soldiers  were  carrying  a  body  on 
some  branches.  Riding  beside  them  was  his  sister  Angela 
with  her  groom. 

"  What  new  horror  is  this  ?  "  he  thought,  as  he  hurried 
down  the  path  to  meet  the  procession. 


CHAPTER  V 

ANGELA 

WILBERFORCE  KINGSNORTH  left  three  children :  Nath- 
aniel—  whose  acquaintance  we  have  already  made,  and 
who  in  a  large  measure  inherited  much  of  his  father's 
dominant  will  and  hardheadedness  —  Monica,  the  elder 

•4 

(daughter,  and  Angela  the  younger. 

Nathaniel  was  the  old  man's  favourite. 

While  still  a  youth  he  inculcated  into  the  boy  all  the 
tenets  of  business,  morality  and  politics  that  had  made 
Wilberforce  prosperous. 

Pride  'in  his  name :  a  sturdy  grasp  of  life :  an  unbend- 
ing attitude  toward  those  beneath  him,  and  an  abiding 
reverence  for  law  and  order  and  fealty  to  the  throne  — 
these  were  the  foundations  on  which  the  father  built 
Nathaniel's  character. 

Next  in  point  of  regard  came  the  elder  daughter  Mon- 
ica. Patrician  of  feature,  haughty  in  manner,  exclusive 
by  nature  she  had  the  true  Kingsnorth  air.  She  had  no 
disturbing  "  ideas  " :  no  yearning  for  things  not  of  her 
station.  She  was  contented  with  the  world  as  it  had  been 
made  for  her  and  seemed  duly  proud  and  grateful  to  have 
been  born  a  Kingsnorth. 

She  was  an  excellent  musician:  rode  fairly  to  hounds: 
bestowed  prizes  at  the  local  charities  with  grace  and  dis- 
tinction —  as  became  a  Kingsnorth  —  and  looked  coldly 
out  at  the  world  from  behind  the  impenetrable  barriers 
of  an  old  name. 

When  she  married  Frederick  Chichester,  the  rising 

38 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      39 

barrister,  connected  with  six  county  families,  it  was  a 
proud  day  for  old  Kingsnorth. 

His  family  had  originally  made  their  money  in  trade. 
The  Chichesters  had  accumulated  a  fortune  by  profes- 
sions. 

The  distinction  in  England  is  marked. 

One  hesitates  to  acknowledge  the  salutation  of  the  man 
who  provides  one  with  the  necessities  of  life:  a  hearty 
handshake  is  occasionally  extended  to  those  who  minister 
to  one's  luxuries. 

In  England  the  law  is  one  of  the  most  expensive 
of  luxuries  and  its  devotees  command  the  highest  re- 
gard. 

Frederick  Chichester  came  of  a  long  line  of  illustrious 
lawyers  —  one  had  even  reached  the  distinction  of  being 
made  a  judge.  He  belonged  to  an  honourable  profes- 
sion. 

Chichesters  had  made  the  laws  of  the  country  in  the 
House  of  Commons  as  well  as  administered  them  in  the 
Courts. 

The  old  man  was  overjoyed. 

He  made  a  handsome  settlement  on  his  eldest  daughter 
on  her  marriage  and  felt  he  had  done  well  by  her,  even  as 
she  had  by  him. 

His  son  and  elder  daughter  were  distinctly  a  credit  to 
him. 

Five  years  after  Monica's  birth  Angela  unexpectedly 
was  born  to  the  Kingsnorths. 

A  delicate,  sickly  infant,  it  seemed  as  if  the  splendid 
blood  of  the  family  had  expended  its  vigour  on  the  elder 
children. 

Angela  needed  constant  attention  to  keep  her  alive. 
From  tremulous  infancy  she  grew  into  delicate  youth. 
None  of  the  strict  standards  Kingsnorth  had  used  so 


40  PEGX)'  MY  HEART 

effectually  with  his  other  children  applied  to  her.  She 
seemed  a  child  apart. 

Not  needing  her,  Kingsnorth  did  not  love  her.  He 
gave  her  a  form  of  tolerant  affection. 

Too  fragile  to  mix  with  others,  she  was  brought  up  at 
home.  Tutors  furnished  her  education.  The  winters 
she  passed  abroad  with  her  mother.  When  her  mother 
died  she  spent  them  with  relations  or  friends.  The  grim 
dampness  of  the  English  climate  was  too  rigorous  for  a 
life  that  needed  sunshine. 

Angela  had  nothing  in  common  with  either  her  brother 
or  her  sister.  She  avoided  them  and  they  her.  They 
did  not  understand  her:  she  understood  them  only  too 
well! 

A  nature  that  craved  for  sympathy  and  affection  — 
as  the  frail  so  often  do  —  was  repulsed  by  those  to  whom 
affection  was  but  a  form,  and  sympathy  a  term  of  re- 
proach. 

She  loved  all  that  was  beautiful,  and,  as  so  frequently 
happens  in  such  natures  as  Angela's,  she  had  an  over- 
whelming pity  for  all  that  were  unhappy.  To  her  God 
made  the  world  beautiful:  man  was  responsible  for  its 
hideousness.  From  her  heart  she  pitied  mankind  for 
abusing  the  gifts  God  had  showered  on  them. 

It  was  on  her  first  home-coming  since  her  mother's 
death  that  her  attention  was  really  drawn  to  her  father's 
Irish  possessions. 

By  a  curious  coincidence  she  returned  home  the  day 
following  Wilberforce  Kingsnorth's  electrical  speech,  in- 
voking Providence  to  interpose  in  the  settlement  of  the 
Irish  difficulty.  It  was  the  one  topic  of  conversation 
throughout  dinner.  And  it  was  during  that  dinner  that 
Angela  for  the  first  time  really  angered  her  father  and 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      41 

raised  a  barrier  between  them  that  lasted  until  the  day  of 
his  death. 

The  old  man  had  laughed  coarsely  at  the  remembrance 
of  his  speech  on  the  previous  night,  and  licked  his  lips  at 
the  thought  of  it. 

Monica,  who  was  visiting  her  father  for  a  few  days, 
smiled  in  agreeable  sympathy. 

Nathaniel  nodded  cheerfully. 

From  her  father's  side  Angela  asked  quietly: 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  Ireland,  father?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  answered  the  old  man  sharply. 
"  And,  what  is  more,  I  never  intend  to  go  there." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  Irish?  "  persisted 
Angela. 

"Do  I?  More  than  the  English  government  does. 
Don't  I  own  land  there?  " 

"  I  mean  do  you  know  anything  about  the  people  ?  "  in- 
sisted Angela. 

"  I  know  them  to  be  a  lot  of  thieving,  rascally  scoun- 
drels, too  lazy  to  work,  and  too  dishonest  to  pay  their 
way,  even  when  they  have  the  money." 

"  Is  that  all  you  know?  " 

"  All?  "  He  stopped  eating  to  look  angrily  at  his 
daughter.  The  cross-examination  was  not  to  his  liking. 

Angela  went  on: 

"  Yes,  father;  is  that  all  you  know  about  the  Irish?  " 

"  Isn't  it  enough?  "  His  voice  rose  shrilly.  It  was 
the  first  time  for  years  anyone  had  dared  use  those  two 
hated  words  "  Ireland  "  and  **  Irish  "  at  his  table.  An- 
gela must  be  checked  and  at  once. 

Before  he  could  begin  to  check  her,  however,  Angela 
answered  his  question : 

"  It  wouldn't  be  enough  for  me  if  I  had  the  responsi- 


42  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

bilities  and  duties  of  a  landlord.  To  be  the  owner  of  an 
estate  should  be  to  act  as  the  people's  friend,  their  father, 
their  adviser  in  times  of  plenty  and  their  comrade  in 
times  of  sorrow." 

"  Indeed?  And  pray  where  did  you  learn  all  that, 
Miss  ?  "  asked  the  astonished  parent. 

Without  noticing  the  interruption  or  the  question, 
Angela  went  on: 

"  Why  deny  a  country  its  own  government  when  Eng- 
land is  practically  governed  by  its  countrymen?  Is  there 
any  position  of  prominence  to-day  in  England  that  isn't 
filled  by  Irishmen?  Think.  Our  Commander-in-Chief  is 
Irish :  our  Lord  High  Admiral  is  Irish :  there  are  the  de- 
fences of  the  English  in  the  hands  of  two  Irishmen  and 
yet  you  call  them  thieving  and  rascally  scoundrels." 

Kingsnorth  tried  to  speak ;  Angela  raised  her  voice : 

"  Turn  to  your  judges  —  the  Lord  Chief  is  an  Irish- 
man. Look  at  the  House  of  Commons.  Our  laws  are 
passed  or  defeated  by  the  Irish  vote,  and  yet  so  blindly 
ignorant  and  obstinate  is  our  insular  prejudice  that  we 
refuse  them  the  favours  they  do  us  —  governing  them- 
selves as  well  as  England." 

Kingsnorth  looked  at  his  daughter  aghast.  Treason 
in  his  own  house !  His  child  speaking  the  two  most  hated 
of  all  words  at  his  own  dinner  table  and  in  laudatory 
terms.  He  could  scarcely  believe  it.  He  looked  at  her 
a  moment  and  then  thundered: 

"  How  dare  you  1     How  dare  you !  " 

Angela  smiled  a  little  amusedly-tolerant  smile  as  she 
looked  frankly  at  her  father  and  answered: 

"  This  is  exactly  the  old-fashioned  tone  we  English 
take  to  anything  we  don't  understand.  And  that  is  why 
other  countries  are  leaving  us  in  the  race.  There  is  a 
nation  living  within  a  few  hours'  journey  from  our  doors, 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      43 

yet  millions  of  English  people  are  as  ignorant  of  them  as 
if  they  lived  in  Senegambia."  She  paused,  looked  once 
more  straight  into  her  father's  eyes  and  said :  "  And 
you,  father,  seem  to  be  as  ignorant  as  the  worst  of 
them!" 

"  Angela !  "  cried  her  sister  in  horror. 

Nathaniel  laughed  good-naturedly,  leaned  across  to 
Angela  and  said: 

"  I  see  our  little  sister  has  been  reading  the  sensational 
magazines.  Yes  ?  " 

"  I've  done  more  than  that,"  replied  Angela.  "  In 
Nice  a  month  ago  were  two  English  members  of  Parlia- 
ment who  had  taken  the  trouble  to  visit  the  country  they 
were  supposed  to  assist  in  governing.  They  told  me 
that  a  condition  of  misery  existed  throughout  the  whole 
of  Ireland  that  was  incredible  under  a  civilised  govern- 
ment." 

"  Radicals,  eh  ?  "  snapped  her  father. 

"  No.  Conservatives.  One  of  them  had  once  held  the 
office  of  Chief  Secretary  for  Ireland  and  was  Ireland's 
most  bitter  persecutor,  until  he  visited  the  country. 
When  he  saw  the  wretchedness  of  her  people  he  stopped 
his  stringent  methods  and  began  casting  about  for  some 
ways  of  lessening  the  poor  people's  torment." 

"  The  more  shame  to  him  to  talk  like  that  to  a  girl. 
And  what's  more  you  had  no  right  to  listen  to  him.  A 
Conservative  indeed !  A  fine  one  he  must  be !  " 

"  He  is.  I  don't  see  why  the  Liberal  party  should 
have  all  the  enlightenment  and  the  Conservative  party  all 
the  bigotry." 

"  Don't  anger  your  father,"  pleaded  Monica. 

"  Why,  little  Angela  has  come  back  to  us  quite  a  revo- 
lutionary," said  Nathaniel. 

"  Leave  the  table,"  shouted  her  father. 


44  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Without  a  word  Angela  got  up  quietly  and  left  the 
room.  Her  manner  was  entirely  unmoved.  She  had 
spoken  from  her  inmost  convictions.  The  fact  that  they 
were  opposed  to  her  father  was  immaterial.  She  loathed 
tyranny  and  his  method  of  shutting  the  mouths  of  those 
who  disagreed  with  him  was  particularly  obnoxious  to 
her.  It  was  also  most  ineffectual  with  her.  From  child- 
hood she  had  always  spoken  as  she  felt.  No  discipline 
checked  her.  Freedom  of  speech  as  well  as  freedom  of 
thought  were  as  natural  and  essential  to  her  as  breathing 
was. 

From  that  time  she  saw  but  little  of  her  father.  When 
he  died  he  left  her  to  her  brother's  care.  Kingsnorth 
made  no  absolute  provision  for  her.  She  was  to  be  de- 
pendent on  Nathaniel.  When  the  time  came  that  she 
seemed  to  wish  to  marry,  if  her  brother  approved  of 
the  match,  he  should  make  a  handsome  settlement  on 
her. 

In  response  to  her  request  Nathaniel  allowed  her  to  go 
with  him  to  Ireland  on  his  tour  of  inspection. 

Mr.  Chichester  was  actively  engaged  at  the  Old  Bailey 
on  an  important  criminal  case,  so  Monica  also  joined 
them. 

Everything  Angela  saw  in  Ireland  appealed  to  her  quick 
sympathy  and  gentle  heart.  It  was  just  as  she  had 
thought  and  read  and  listened  to.  On  every  side  she  saw 
a  kindly  people  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  poverty. 
Lives  ruined  by  sickness  and  the  lack  of  nourishment.  A 
splendid  race  perishing  through  misgovernment  and  in- 
tolerant ignorance. 

Angela  went  about  amongst  the  people  and  made 
friends  with  them.  They  were  chary  at  first  of  taking 
her  to  their  hearts.  She  was  of  the  hated  Saxon  race. 
What  was  she  doing  there,  she,  the  sister  of  their,  till 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      45 

now,  absentee  landlord?  She  soon  won  them  over  by  her 
appealing  voice  and  kindly  interest. 

All  this  Angela  did  in  direct  opposition  to  her  brother's 
wishes  and  her  sister's  exhortations. 

The  morning  of  the  meeting  she  had  ridden  some  miles 
to  visit  a  poor  family.  Out  of  five  three  were  in  bed  with 
low  fever.  She  got  a  doctor  for  them,  gave  them  money 
to  buy  necessities  and,  with  a  promise  to  return  the  next 
day,  she  rode  away. 

When  within  some  little  distance  of  her  brother's  house 
she  saw  a  steady,  irregular  stream  of  people  climbing  a 
great  hill.  She  rode  toward  it,  and,  screened  by  a  clump 
of  trees,  saw  and  heard  the  meeting. 

When  O'Connell  first  spoke  his  voice  thrilled  her.  Grad- 
ually the  excitement  of  the  people  under  the  mastery  of 
his  power,  communicated  itself  to  her.  It  pulsed  in  her 
blood,  and  throbbed  in  her  brain.  For  the  first  time  she 
realised  what  a  marvellous  force  was  the  Call  of  the  Pa- 
triot. To  listen  and  watch  a  man  risking  life  and  liberty 
in  the  cause  of  his  country.  Her  heart,  and  her  mind 
and  her  soul  went  out  to  him. 

When  the  soldiers  marched  on  to  the  scene  she  was 
paralysed  with  fear.  When  the  order  to  fire  was  given 
she  wanted  to  ride  into  their  midst  and  cry  out  to  them 
to  stop.  But  she  was  unable  to  move  hand  or  foot. 

When  the  smoke  had  thinned  and  she  saw  the  bodies 
lying  motionless  on  the  ground  of  men  who  a  moment 
before  had  been  full  of  life  and  strength :  when  was  added 
to  that  the  horror  of  the  wounded  crying  out  with  pain, 
her  first  impulse  was  to  fly  from  the  sight  of  the  carnage. 
She  mastered  that  moment  of  fear  and  plunged  forward, 
calling  to  the  groom  to  follow  her. 

What  immediately  followed  has  already  been  told. 

The  long,  slow,  tortuous  journey  home:  the  men  slowly 


46  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

following  with  the  ghastly  mute-body  on  the  rude  litter, 
became  a  living  memory  to  her  for  all  the  remainder  of 
her  life. 

She  glanced  down  every  little  while  at  the  stone-white 
face  and  shuddered  as  she  found  herself  wondering  if  she 
would  ever  hear  his  voice  again  or  see  those  great  blue- 
grey  eyes  flash  with  his  fierce  courage  and  devotion. 

Once  only  did  the  lips  of  the  wounded  man  move.  In 
a  moment  Angela  had  dismounted  and  halted  the  soldiers. 
As  she  bent  down  over  him  O'Connell  swooned  again  from 
pain. 

The  procession  went  on. 

As  they  neared  her  brother's  house,  stragglers  began 
to  follow  curiously.  Sad  looking  men  and  weary  women 
joined  the  procession  wonderingly.  All  guessed  it  was 
some  fresh  outrage  of  the  soldiers. 

Little,  ragged,  old-young  children  peered  down  at  the 
body  on  the  litter  and  either  ran  away  crying  or  joined 
in  listlessly  with  the  others. 

It  was  an  old  story  carrying  back  mutilated  men  to  the 
village.  None  was  surprised. 

It  seemed  to  Angela  that  an  infinity  of  time  had  passed 
before  they  entered  the  grounds  attached  to  the  Kings- 
north  house. 

She  sent  a  man  on  ahead  to  order  a  room  to  be  pre- 
pared and  a  doctor  sent  for. 

As  she  saw  her  brother  coming  forward  to  meet  her 
with  knit  brows  and  stern  eyes  she  nerved  herself  to  greet 
him. 

"  What  is  this,  Angela  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  strange  procession. 

"  Another  martyr  to  our  ignorant  government,  Na- 
thaniel," and  she  pressed  on  through  the  drive  to  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ANGELA  SPEAKS  HER  MIND   FREELY  TO  NATHANIEL 

NATHANIEL'S  indignation  at  his  sister's  conduct  was 
beyond  bounds  when  he  learnt  who  the  wounded  man  was. 
He  ordered  the  soldiers  to  take  the  man  and  themselves 
away. 

The  magistrate  interposed  and  begged  him  to  at  least 
let  O'Connell  rest  there  until  a  doctor  could  patch  him 
up.  It  might  be  dangerous  to  take  him  back  without 
medical  treatment.  He  assured  Nathaniel  that  the  mo- 
ment they  could  move  him  he  would  be  lodged  in  the 
county-j  ail. 

Nathaniel  went  back  to  his  study  as  the  sorry  proces- 
sion passed  on  to  the  front  door. 

He  sent  immediately  for  his  sister. 

The  reply  came  back  that  she  would  see  him  at 
dinner. 

He  commanded  her  to  come  to  him  at  once. 

In  a  few  minutes  Angela  came  into  the  room.  She  was 
deathly  pale.  Her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke : 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Why  did  you  bring  that  man  here  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  wounded." 

"  Such  scoundrels  are  better  dead." 

"  I  don't  think  so.     Nor  do  I  think  him  a  scoundrel." 

"  He  came  here  to  attack  landlords  —  to  attack  me. 
'Me!  And  you  bring  him  to  my  house  and  with  that 
rabble.  It's  outrageous  !  Monstrous !  " 

"  I  couldn't  leave  him  with  those  heartless  wretches  to 

die  in  their  hands." 

47 


48  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

"  He  leaves  here  the  moment  a  doctor  has  attended 
him." 

"Very  well.     Is  that  all?" 

"  No,  it  isn't !  "  Kingsnorth  tried  to  control  his  anger. 
After  a  pause  he  continued: 

"  I  want  no  more  of  these  foolhardy,  quixotic  actions 
of  yours.  I've  heard  of  your  visiting  these  wretched 
people  —  going  into  fever  dens.  Is  that  conduct  becom- 
ing your  name?  Think  a  little  of  your  station  in  life  and 
what  it  demands." 

"  I  wish  you  did  a  little  more." 

"  What  ?  "  he  shouted,  all  his  anger  returned. 

"  There's  no  need  to  raise  your  voice,"  Angela  answered 
quietly.  "  I  am  only  a  few  feet  away.  I  repeat  that  I 
wish  you  thought  a  little  more  of  your  obligations.  If 
you  did  and  others  like  you  in  the  same  position  you  are 
in,  there  would  be  no  such  horrible  scenes  as  I  saw  to-day ; 
a  man  shot  down  amongst  his  own  people  for  speaking 
the  truth." 

"  You  saw  it  ?  "  Nathaniel  asked  in  dismay. 

"  I  did.  I  not  only  saw,  but  I  heard.  I  wish  you  had, 
too.  I  heard  a  man  lay  bare  his  heart  and  his  brain  and 
his  soul  that  others  might  know  the  light  in  them.  I  saw 
and  heard  a  man  offer  up  his  life  that  others  might  know 
some  gleam  of  happiness  in  their  lives.  It  was  wonder- 
ful !  It  was  heroic !  It  was  God-like !  '* 

"  If  I  ever  hear  of  you  doing  such  a  thing  again,  you 
shall  go  back  to  London  the  next  day." 

"  That  sounds  exactly  as  though  my  dead  father  were 
speaking." 

"  I'll  not  be  made  a  laughing-stock  by  you." 

"  You  make  yourself  one  as  your  father  did  before  you. 
A  Kingsnorth!  What  has  your  name  meant?  Because 
one  of  our  forefathers  cheated  the  world  into  giving  him  a 


fortune,  by  buying  his  goods  for  more  than  they  were 
worth,  we  have  tried  to  canonise  him  and  put  a  halo 
around  the  name  of  Kingsnorth.  To  me  it  stands  for  all 
that  is  mean  and  selfish  and  vain  and  ignorant.  The 
power  of  money  over  intellect.  How  did  we  become 
owners  of  this  miserable  piece  of  land?  A  Kingsnorth 
swindled  its  rightful  owner.  Lent  him  money  on  usury, 
bought  up  his  bills  and  his  mortgages  and  when  he 
couldn't  pay  foreclosed  on  him.  No  wonder  there's  a 
curse  on  the  village  and  on  us !  " 

Kingsnorth  tried  to  speak,  but  she  stopped  him: 

"  Wait  a  moment.  It  was  a  good  stroke  of  business 
taking  this  estate  away.  Oh  yes,  it  was  a  good  stroke  of 
business.  Our  name  has  been  built  up  on  '  good  strokes  of 
business.'  Well,  I  tell  you  it's  a  bad  stroke  of  business 
when  human  lives  are  put  into  the  hands  of  such  creatures 
as  we  Kingsnorths  have  proved  ourselves !  " 

"  Stop !  "  cried  Nathaniel,  outraged  to  the  innermost 
sanctuary  of  his  being.  "  Stop !  You  don't  speak  like 
one  of  our  family.  It  is  like  listening  to  some  heretic  — 
some  — " 

"  I  don't  feel  like  one  of  your  family.  You  are  a 
Kingsnorth.  I  am  my  mother's  child.  My  poor,  gentle, 
patient  mother,  who  lived  a  life  of  unselfish  resignation : 
who  welcomed  death,  when  it  came  to  her,  as  a  release  from 
tyranny.  Don't  call  me  a  Kingsnorth.  I  know  the 
family  too  well.  I  know  all  the  name  means  to  the  people 
who  have  suffered  through  your  family" 

"  After  this  —  the  best  thing  —  the  only  thing  —  is  to 
separate,"  said  Nathaniel. 

"  Whenever  you  wish." 

"  I'll  make  you  an  allowance." 

"  Don't  let  it  be  a  burden." 

"  I've  never  been  so  shocked  —  so  stunned  — " 


50  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I  am  glad.  From  my  cradle  I've  been  shocked  and 
stunned  —  in  my  home.  It's  some  compensation  to  know 
you  are  capable  of  the  feeling,  too.  Frankly,  I  didn't 
think  you  were." 

"  We'll  talk  no  more  of  this,"  and  Nathaniel  began  to 
pace  the  room. 

"  I  am  finished,"  and  Angela  went  to  the  door. 

"  It  would  be  better  we  didn't  meet  again  —  in  any 
event  —  not  often,"  added  Nathaniel. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Angela,  opening  the  door.  He 
motioned  her  to  close  it,  that  he  had  something  more  to 
say. 

"  We'll  find  you  some  suitable  chaperone.  You  can 
spend  your  winters  abroad,  as  you  have  been  doing. 
London  for  the  season  —  until  you're  suitably  married. 
I'll  follow  out  my  father's  wishes  to  the  letter.  You  shall 
be  handsomely  provided  for  the  day  you  marry." 

She  closed  the  door  with  a  snap  and  came  back  to  him 
and  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"  The  man  I  marry  shall  take  nothing  from  you. 
Even  in  his  *  last  will  and  testament '  my  father  proved 
himself  a  Kingsnorth.  It  was  only  a  Kingsnorth  could 
make  his  youngest  daughter  dependent  on  you!  " 

"  My  father  knew  I  would  respect  his  wishes." 

"  He  was  equally  responsible  for  me,  yet  he  leaves  me 
to  your  care.  A  Kingsnorth! 

"  The  men  masters  and  the  women  slaves! 

"  That  is  the  Kingsnorth  doctrine. 

"It  is  a  pity  our  father  didn't  live  a  little  longer. 
There  are  many  changes  coming  into  this  old  grey  world 
of  ours  and  one  of  them  is  the  real,  honourable  position  of 
woman.  The  day  will  come  in  England  when  we  will 
wring  from  our  fathers  and  our  brothers  as  our  right 
what  is  doled  out  to  us  now  as  though  we  were  beggars. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      51 

"  And  they  are  trying  to  govern  the  country  of  Ire- 
land in  the  same  way.  The  reign  of  the  despot.  Well, 
that  is  nearly  over  too  —  even  as  woman's  degrading 
position  to-day  is  almost  at  an  end." 

"  Have  you  finished?  " 

Once  again  Angela  went  to  the  door.  Nathaniel  said 
in  a  somewhat  changed  toner 

"  As  it  is  your  wish  this  man  should  be  cared  for,  I'll 
do  it.  When  he  is  well  enough  to  be  moved,  the  magis- 
trate will  take  him  to  jail.  But,  for  the  little  while  we 
shall  be  here,  I  beg  you  not  to  do  anything  so  unseemly 
again." 

A  servant  came  in  to  tell  Angela  the  doctor  had  come. 
Without  a  word  Angela  went  out  to  see  to  the  wounded 
man. 

The  servant  followed  her. 

Left  alone,  Nathaniel  sat  down,  shocked  and  stunned, 
to  review  the  interview  he  had  just  had  with  his  youngest 
sister. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  WOUNDED  PATRIOT 

WHEN  Angela  entered  the  sick-room  she  found  Dr. 
McGinnis,  a  cheery,  bright-eyed,  rotund  little  man  of 
fifty,  talking  freely  to  the  patient  and  punctuating  each 
speech  with  a  hearty  laugh.  His  good-humour  was  in- 
fectious. 

The  wounded  agitator  felt  the  effect  of  it  and  was  try- 
ing to  laugh  feebly  himself. 

"  Sure  it's  the  fine  target  ye  must  have  made  with  yer 
six  feet  and  one  inch.  How  could  the  poor  soldiers  help 
hittin'  ye?  Answer  me  that?"  and  the  jovial  doctor 
laughed  again  as  he  dexterously  wound  a  bandage  around 
O'Connell's  arm. 

"  Aisy  now  while  I  tie  the  bandage,  me  fine  fellow. 
Ye'll  live  to  see  the  inside  of  an  English  jail  yet." 

He  turned  as  he  heard  the  door  open  and  greeted  An- 
gela. 

"  Good  afternoon  to  ye,  Miss  Kingsnorth.  Faith,  it's 
a  blessin'  ye  brought  the  boy  here.  There's  no  tellin' 
what  the  prison-surgeon  would  have  done  to  him.  It  is 
saltpetre,  they  tell  me,  the  English  doctors  rub  into  the 
Irish  wounds,  to  kape  them  smartin'.  And,  by  the  like 
token,  they  do  the  same  too  in  the  English  House  of 
Commons.  Saltpetre  in  Ireland's  wounds  is  what  they 
give  us." 

"  Is  he  much  hurt  ?  "  asked  Angela. 

"  Well,  they've  broken  nothin'.  Just  blackened  his 
face  and  made  a  few  holes  in  his  skin.  It's  buckshot 
they  used.  Buckshot !  Thank  the  merciful  Mr.  Forster 


for  that  same.  *  Buckshot-Forster,'  as  the  Irish  rever- 
ently call  him." 

Angela  flushed  with  indignation  as  she  looked  at  the 
crippled  man. 

"  What  a  dastardly  thing  to  do,"  she  cried. 

"  Ye  may  well  say  that,  Miss  Kingsnorth,"  said  the 
merry  little  doctor.  "  But  it's  betther  than  a  bullet  from 
a  Martini-Henry  rifle,  that's  what  it  is.  And  there's  many 
a  poor  English  landlord's  got  one  of  'em  in  the  back  for 
ridin'  about  at  night  on  his  own  land.  It's  a  fatherly 
government  we  have,  Miss  Kingsnorth.  *  Hurt  'em,  but 
don't  quite  kill  'em,'  sez  they ;  '  and  then  put  'em  in  jail 
and  feed  them  on  bread  and  wather.  That'll  take  the 
fine  talkin'  and  patriotism  out  of  them,'  sez  they." 

"  They'll  never  take  it  out  of  me.  They  may  kill  me, 
perhaps,  but  until  they  do  they'll  never  silence  me,"  mur- 
mured O'Connell  in  a  voice  so  low,  yet  so  bitter,  that  it 
startled  Angela. 

"  Ye'll  do  that  all  in  good  time,  me  fine  boy,"  said  the 
busy  little  doctor.  "  Here,  take  a  pull  at  this,"  and  he 
handed  the  patient  a  glass  in  which  he  had  dropped  a  few 
crystals  into  some  water. 

As  O'Connell  drank  the  mixture  Dr.  McGinnis  said  in 
a  whisper  to  Angela: 

"  Let  him  have  that  every  three  hours :  of tener  if  he 
wants  to  talk.  We've  got  to  get  his  mind  at  rest.  A 
good  sleep'll  make  a  new  man  of  him." 

"  There's  no  danger?  "  asked  Angela  in  the  same  tone. 

"  None  in  the  wurrld.  He's  got  a  fine  constitution  and 
mebbe  the  buckshot  was  pretty  clean.  I've  washed  them 
out  well." 

"  To  think  of  men  shot  down  like  dogs  for  speaking  of 
their  country.  It's  horrible!  It's  wicked!  It's  mon- 
strous." 


54.  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Faith,  the  English  don't  know  what  else  to  do  with 
them,  Miss.  It's  no  use  arguin'  with  the  like  of  him. 
That  man  lyin'  on  that  bed  'ud  talk  the  hind-foot  off  a 
heifer.  The  only  way  to  kape  the  likes  of  him  quiet  is  to 
shoot  him,  and  begob  they  have." 

"  I  heard  you,  doctor,"  came  from  the  bed.  "  If 
they'd  killed  me  to-day  there  would  be  a  thousand  voices 
would  rise  all  over  Ireland  to  take  the  place  of  mine.  One 
martyr  makes  countless  converts." 

"  Faith,  I'd  rather  kape  me  own  life  than  to  have  a 
hundred  thousand  spakin'  for  me  and  me  dead.  Where's1 
the  good  that  would  be  doin'  me  ?  Now  kape  still  there  all 
through  the  beautiful  night,  and  let  the  blessed  medicine 
quiet  ye  and  the  coolin'  ointment  aize  yer  pain.  I'll  come 
in  by-and-by  on  the  way  back  home.  I'm  goin'  up 
beyant  '  The  Gap '  to  some  poor  people  with  the  fever. 
But  I'll  be  back." 

"Thank  you,  Dr.  McGinnis." 

"  Is  it  long  yer  stayin'  here  ? "  and  the  little  man 
picked  up  his  hat. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Angela.     "  I  hardly  think  so." 

"  Well,  it's  you  they'll  miss  when  ye're  gone,  Miss 
Kingsnorth.  Faith  if  all  the  English  were  like  you  this 
sort  of  thing  couldn't  happen." 

"  We  don't  try  to  understand  the  people,  doctor.  We 
just  govern  them  blindly  and  ignorantly." 

"  Faith  it's  small  blame  to  the  English.  We're  a 
mighty  hard  race  to  make  head  nor  tail  of.  And  that's 
a  fact.  Prayin'  at  Mass  one  aainnit  and  maimin'  cattle 
the  next.  Cryin*  salt  tears  at  the  bedside  of  a  sick  child 
and  lavin'  it  to  shoot  a  poor  man  in  the  ribs  for  darin*  to 
ask  for  his  rint." 

"  They're  not  Irishmen,"  came  from  the  sick  bed. 

"  Faith  and  they  are  now.     And  it's  small  wondher 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR      55 

the  men  who  sit  in  Whitehall  in  London  trate  them  like 
savages." 

"  I've  seen  tilings  since  I've  been  here  that  would  justify 
almost  anything !  "  cried  Angela.  "  I've  seen  suffering 
no  one  in  England  dreamt  of.  Misery,  that  London, 
with  all  its  poverty  and  wretchedness,  could  not  compare 
with.  Were  I  born  in  Ireland  I  should  be  proud  to  stake 
my  liberty  and  my  life  to  protect  my  own  people  from 
such  horrible  brutality." 

The  wounded  man  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  full  at 
Angela.  It  was  a  look  at  once  of  gratitude  and  reverence 
and  admiration. 

Her  heart  leaped  within  her. 

So  far  no  man  in  the  little  walled-in  zone  she  had  lived 
in  had  ever  stirred  her  to  an  even  momentary  enthusiasm. 
They  were  all  so  fatuously  contented  with  their  environ- 
ment. Sheltered  from  birth,  their  anxiety  was  chiefly  how 
to  make  life  pass  the  pleasantest.  They  occasionally 
showed  a  spasmodic  excitement  over  the  progress  of  a 
cricket  or  polo  match.  Their  achievements  were  largely 
those  of  the  stay-at-home  warriors  who  fought  with  the 
quill  what  others  faced  death  with  the  sword  for.  Their 
inertia  disgusted  her.  Their  self-satisfaction  spurred 
her  to  resentment. 

Here  was  a  man  in  the  real  heart  of  life.  He  was  en- 
gaged in  a  struggle  that  makes  existence  worth  while  — * 
the  effort  to  bring  a  message  to  his  people. 

How  all  the  conversations  she  was  forced  to  listen  to 
in  her  narrow  world  rose  up  before  her  in  their 
carping  meannesses !  Her  father's  brutal  diatribes 
against  a  people,  unfortunate  enough  to  be  compelled, 
from  force  of  circumstance,  to  live  on  a  portion  of  land 
that  belonged  to  him,  yet  in  whose  lives  he  took  no  in- 
terest whatsoever.  His  only  anxiety  was  to  be  paid  his 


56  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

rents.  How,  and  through  what  misery,  his  tenants 
scraped  the  money  together  to  do  it  with,  mattered  noth- 
ing to  him.  All  that  did  matter  was  that  he  must  be 
paid. 

Then  arose  a  picture  of  her  sister  Monica,  with  her 
puny  social  pretensions.  Recognition  of  those  in  a 
higher  grade  bread  and  meat  and  drink  to  her.  Adula- 
tion and  gross  flattery  the  very  breath  of  her  nostrils. 

Her  brother's  cheap,  narrow  platitudes  about  the 
rights  of  rank  and  wealth. 

To  Angela  wealth  had  no  rights  except  to  bring  happi- 
ness to  the  world.  It  seemed  to  bring  only  misery  once 
people  acquired  it.  Grim  sorrow  seemed  to  stalk  in  the 
trail  of  the  rich. 

She  could  not  recall  one  moment  of  real,  unfeigned  hap- 
piness among  her  family.  The  only  time  she  could  re- 
member her  father  smiling  or  chuckling  was  at  some  one 
else's  misfortune,  or  over  some  cruel  thing  he  had  said 
himself. 

Her  sister's  joy  over  some  little  social  triumph  — 
usually  at  the  cost  of  the  humiliation  of  another. 

Her  brother's  cheeriness  over  some  smart  stroke  of 
business  in  which  another  firm  was  involved  to  their  cost. 

Parasites  all! 

The  memory  of  her  mother  was  the  only  link  that 
bound  her  to  her  childhood.  The  gentle,  uncomplain- 
ing spirit  of  her:  the  unselfish  abnegation  of  her:  the 
soul's  tragedy  of  her  —  giving  up  her  life  at  the  altar 
of  duty,  at  the  bidding  of  a  hardened  despot. 

All  Angela's  childhood  came  back  in  a  brief  illuminat- 
ing flash.  The  face  of  her  one  dear,  dead  companion  • — 
her  mother  —  glowed  before  her.  How  her  mother  would 
have  cared  for  and  tended,  and  worshipped  a  man  even 
as  the  one  lying  riddled  on  that  bed  of  suffering! 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     57 

All  the  best  in  Angela  was  from  her  mother.  All  the 
resolute  fighting  quality  was  from  her  father. 

She  would  use  both  now  in  defence  of  the  wounded 
man.  She  would  tend  him  and  care  for  him,  and  see 
that  no  harm  came  to  him. 

She  was  roused  from  her  self-searching  thoughts  by 
the  doctor's  voice  and  the  touch  of  his  hand. 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present,  Miss  Kingsnorth.  Sure 
it's  in  good  hands  I'm  lavin'  him.  But  for  you  he'd  be 
lyin'  in  the  black  jail  with  old  Doctor  Costello  glarin* 
down  at  him  with  his  gimlet  eyes.  I  wouldn't  wish  a 
dog  that.  Faith,  I've  known  Costello  to  open  a  wound 
*  just  to  see  if  it  was  healthy,'  sez  he,  an'  the  patient 
screamin'  '  Holy  murther ! '  all  the  while,  and  old  '  Cos  * 
leerin'  down  at  him  and  sayin':  *  Does  it  hurt?  Go  on 
now,  does  it?  Well,  we'll  thry  this  one  and  see  if  that 
does,  too,'  and  in  'ud  go  the  lance  again.  I  tell  je  it's 
the  Christian  he  is ! "  He  stopped  abruptly.  "  How 
me  tongue  runs  on.  '  Talkative  McGinnis '  is  what  the 
disrespectful  ones  call  me  —  I'll  run  in  after  eight  and 
mebbe  I'll  bleed  him  a  little  and  give  him  something5!! 
make  him  slape  like  a  top  till  mornin'.  Good-bye  to 
yez,  for  the  present,"  and  the  kindly,  plump  little  man 
hurried  out  with  the  faint  echo  of  a  tune  whistling 
through  his  lips. 

Angela  sat  down  at  a  little  Distance  from  the  sick- 
bed and  watched  the  wounded  man.  His  face  was  drawn 
with  pain.  His  eyes  were  closed.  But  he  was  not  sleep- 
ing. His  fingers  locked  and  unlocked.  His  lips  »oved. 
He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"  You  need  not  stay  here,"  he  said. 

"Would  you  rather  I  didn't?"  asked  Angela,  rising. 

"  Why  did  you  bring  me  here  ?  " 

"  To  make  sure  your  wounds  were  attended  to." 


68  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Your  brother  is  a  landlord  —  *  Kingsnorth  —  the 
absentee  landlord,'  we  used  to  call  your  father  as  chil- 
dren. And  I'm  in  his  son's  house.  I'd  betther  be  in  jail 
than  here." 

"You  mustn't  think  that." 

"  You've  brought  me  here  to  humiliate  me  —  to  hu- 
miliate me ! " 

"  No.     To  care  for  you.     To  protect  you." 

"Protect  me?" 

"  If  I  can." 

"  That's  strange." 

"  I  heard  you  speak  to-day." 

"You  did?" 

"  I  did." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that." 

"  So  am  I." 

"  Pity  your  brother  wasn't  there  too." 

"  It  was  —  a  great  pity." 

"  Here's  one  that  Dublin  Castle  and  the  English  gov- 
ernment can't  frighten.  I'll  serve  my  time  in  prison 
when  I'm  well  enough  —  it's  the  first  time  they've  caught 
me  and  they  had  to  shoot  me  to  do  it  —  and  when  I  come 
out  I'll  come  straight  back  here  and  take  up  the  work 
just  where  I'm  leaving  it." 

"  You  mustn't  go  to  prison." 

"  It's  the  lot  of  every  Irishman  to-day  who  says  what 
he  thinks." 

"  It  mustn't  be  yours !  It  mustn't !  "  Angela's  voice 
rose  in  her  distress.  She  repeated :  "  It  mustn't ! 
I'll  appeal  to  my  brother  to  stop  it." 

"  If  he's  anything  like  his  father  it's  small  heed  he'll 
pay  to  your  pleading.  The  poor  wretches  here  appealed 
to  old  Kingsnorth  in  famine  and  sickness  —  not  for 
help,  mind  ye,  just  for  a  little  time  to  pay  their  rents  — 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     69 

and  the  only  answer  they  ever  got  from  him  was  '  Pay 
or  go'!" 

"  I  know !  I  know !  "  Angela  replied.  "  And  many  a 
time  when  I  was  a  child  my  mother  and  I  cried  over 
it." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  You  and  yer  mother 
cried  over  us?  " 

"  We  did.     Indeed  we  did." 

"  They  say  the  heart  of  England  is  in  its  womenkind. 
But  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  laws." 

"  They  will  have  some  day." 

"It'll  be  a  long  time  comin',  I'm  thinkin'.  If  they 
take  so  long  to  free  a  whole  country  how  long  do  ye 
suppose  it'll  take  them  to  free  a  whole  sex  —  and  the 
female  one  at  that?" 

"  It  will  come !  "  she  said  resolutely. 

He  looked  at  her  strangely. 

"  And  you  cried  over  Ireland's  sorrows  ?  " 

"  As  a  child  and  as  a  woman,"  said  Angela. 

"  And  ye've  gone  about  here  tryin*  to  help  them  too, 
haven't  ye?  " 

"  I  could  do  very  little." 

"  Well,  the  spirit  is  there : —  and  the  heart  is  there. 
If  they  hadn't  liked  you  it's  the  sorry  time  maybe  your 
brother  would  have." 

He  paused  again,  looking  at  her  intently,  whilst  his 
fingers  clutched  the  coverlet  convulsively  as  if  to  stifle 
a  cry  of  pain. 

"  May  I  ask  ye  yer  name  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  Angela,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Angela,"  he  repeated.  "  Angela !  It's  well  named 
ye  are.  It's  the  ministering  angel  ye've  been  down  here 
—  to  the  people  —  and  —  to  me." 

"  Don't  talk  any  more  now.     Rest." 


60  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"Rest,  is  it?  With  all  the  throuble  in  the  wurrld 
beatin'  in  me  brain  and  throbbin'  in  me  heart?  " 

"  Try  and  sleep  until  the  doctor  comes  to-night.'* 

He  lay  back  and  closed  his  eyes. 

Angela  sat  perfectly  still. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  opened  them  again.  There  was 
a  new  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  Ye  heard  me  speak,  did  ye?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Where  were  ye  ?  " 

"  Above  you,  behind  a  bank  of  trees." 

A  playful  smile  played  around  his  lips  as  he  said: 
"  It  was  a  good  speech,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  I  thought  it  wonderful,"  Angela  answered. 

"  And  what  were  yer  feelings  listenin'  to  a  man  urgin' 
the  people  against  yer  own  country  ?  " 

"  I  felt  I  wanted  to  stand  beside  you  and  echo  every- 
thing you  said." 

**  Did  you?  "  and  his  eyes  blazed  and  his  voice  rose. 

"  You  spoke  as  some  prophet,  speaking  in  a  wilderness 
of  sorrow,  trying  to  bring  them  comfort." 

He  smiled  whimsically,  as  he  said,  in  a  weary  voice : 

"  I  tried  to  bring  them  comfort  and  I  got  them  broken 
heads  and  buck-shot." 

"  It's  only  through  suffering  every  great  cause  tri- 
umphs," said  Angela. 

"  Then  the  Irish  should  triumph  some  day.  They've 
suffered  enough,  God  knows." 

"  They  will,"  said  Angela  eagerly.  "  Oh,  how  I  wish 
I'd  been  born  a  man  to  throw  in  my  lot  with  the  weak !  to 
bring  comfort  to  sorrow,  freedom  to  the  oppressed:  joy 
to  wretchedness.  That  is  your  mission.  How  I  envy 
you.  I  glory  in  what  the  future  has  in  store  for  you. 
Live  for  it !  Live  for  it !  " 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     61 

"  I  will !  "  cried  O'Connell.  "  Some  day  the  yoke  will 
be  lifted  from  us.  God  grant  that  mine  will  be  the  hand 
to  help  do  it.  God  grant  I  am  alive  to  see  it  done. 
That  day'll  be  worth  living  for  —  to  wring  recognition 
from  our  enemies  —  to  —  to  —  to  — "  he  sank  back 
weakly  on  the  pillow,  his  voice  fainting  to  a  whisper. 

Angela  brought  him  some  water  and  helped  him  up 
while  he  drank  it.  She  smoothed  back  the  shining  hair  — 
red,  shot  through  gold  —  from  his  forehead.  He 
thanked  her  with  a  look.  Suddenly  he  burst  into  tears. 
The  strain  of  the  day  had  snapped  his  self-control  at 
last.  The  floodgates  were  opened.  He  sobbed  and 
sobbed  like  some  tired,  hurt  child.  Angela  tried  to  com- 
fort him.  In  a  moment  she  was  crying,  too.  He  took 
her  hand  and  kissed  it  repeatedly,  the  tears  falling  on  it 
as  he  did  so. 

"  God  bless  ye !     God  bless  ye !  "  he  cried. 

In  that  moment  of  self-revelation  their  hearts  went  out 
to  each  other.  Neither  had  known  happiness  nor  love, 
nor  faith  in  mankind. 

In  that  one  enlightening  moment  of  emotion  their 
hearts  were  laid  bare  to  each  other.  The  great  comedy 
of  life  between  man  and  woman  had  begun. 

From  that  moment  their  lives  were  linked  together. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ANGELA  IN  SORE  DISTRESS 

THREE  days  afterwards  O'Connell  was  able  to  dress 
and  move  about  his  room.  He  was  weak  from  loss  of 
blood  and  the  confinement  that  an  active  man  resents. 
But  his  brain  was  clear  and  vivid.  They  had  been  three 
wonderful  days.  , 

Angela  had  made  them  the  most  amazing  in  his  life. 
The  memory  of  those  hours  spent  with  her  he  would 
carry  to  his  grave. 

She  read  to  him  and  talked  to  him  and  lectured  him 
and  comforted  him.  There  were  times  when  he  thanked 
the  Power  that  shapes  our  ends  for  having  given  him 
this  one  supreme  experience.  The  cadences  of  her  voice 
would  haunt  him  through  the  years  to  come. 

And  in  a  little  while  he  must  leave  it  all.  He  must 
stand  his  trial  under  the  "  Crimes  Act  "  for  speaking  at 
a  "  Proclaimed  "  meeting. 

Well,  whatever  his  torture  he  knew  he  would  come  out 
better  equipped  for  the  struggle.  He  had  learned  some- 
thing of  himself  he  had  so  far  never  dreamed  of  in  his  bit- 
ter struggle  with  the  handicap  of  his  life.  He  had  some- 
thing to  live  for  now  besides  the  call  of  his  country 
—  the  call  of  the  heart  —  the  cry  of  beauty  and  truth 
and  reverence. 

Angela  inspired  him  with  all  these.  In  the  three  days 
she  ministered  to  him  she  had  opened  up  a  vista  he  had 
hitherto  never  known.  And  now  he  had  to  leave  it  and 
face  his  accusers,  and  be  hectored  and  jeered  at  in  the 

mockery  they  called  "  trials."     From  the  Court-House 

ft 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     63 

he  would  go  to  the  prison  and  from  thence  he  would  be 
sent  back  into  the  world  with  the  brand  of  the  prison-cell 
upon  him.  As  the  thought  of  all  this  passed  through 
his  mind,  he  never  wavered.  He  would  face  it  as  he  had 
faced  trouble  all  his  life,  with  body  knit  for  the  strug- 
gle, and  his  heart  strong  for  the  battle. 

And  back  of  it  all  the  yearning  that  at  the  end  she 
would  be  waiting  and  watching  for  his  return  to  the  con- 
flict for  the  great  "  Cause  "  to  which  he  had  dedicated 
his  life. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  Mr.  Roche,  the  resi- 
dent magistrate,  was  sent  for  by  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth. 
Mr.  Roche  found  him  firm  and  determined,  his  back  to 
the  fireplace,  in  which  a  bright  fire  was  burning,  although 
the  month  was  July. 

"  Even  the  climate  of  Ireland  rebels  against  the  usual 
laws  of  nature !  "  thought  Kingsnorth,  as  he  shivered 
and  glanced  at  the  steady,  drenching  downpour  that  had 
lasted,  practically,  ever  since  he  had  set  foot  in  the 
wretched  country. 

The  magistrate  came  forward  and  greeted  him  re- 
spectfully. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Roche,"  said  Nathaniel,  motion- 
ing him  to  sit  down  by  the  fire. 

"  I've  sent  for  you  to  remove  this  man  O'Connell," 
added  Nathaniel,  after  a  pause. 

"  Certainly  —  if  he  is  well  enough  to  be  moved." 

:'  The  doctor,  I  understand,  says  that  he  is." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  drive  him  down  to  the  Court-House. 
The  Court  is  sitting  now,"  said  Roche,  rising. 

Kingsnorth  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  it  was  against  my  express 
wishes  that  he  was  ever  brought  into  this  house." 

"  Miss  Kingsnorth  told  me,  when  I  had  arrested  him, 


64  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

that  you  would  shelter  him  and  go  bail  for  him,  if  neces- 
sary," said  Roche,  in  some  surprise. 

"  My  sister  does  things  under  impulse  that  she  often 
regrets  afterwards.  This  is  one.  I  hope  there  is  no 
harm  done  ?  " 

"  None  in  the  world,"  replied  the  magistrate.  "  On 
the  contrary,  the  people  seem  to  have  a  much  higher 
opinion  of  you,  Mr.  Kingsnorth,  since  the  occurrence," 
he  added. 

"  Their  opinion  —  good  or  bad  —  is  a  matter  of  com- 
plete indifference  to  me.  I  am  only  anxious  that  the 
representatives  of  the  government  do  not  suppose  that, 
because,  through  mistaken  ideas  of  charity,  my  sister 
brought  this  man  to  my  house,  /  in  any  way  sanction 
his  attitude  and  his  views ! " 

"  I  should  not  fear  that,  Mr.  Kingsnorth.  You  have 
always  been  regarded  as  a  most  loyal  subject,  sir,"  an- 
swered Roche. 

"  I  am  glad.     What  sentence  is  he  likely  to  get  ?  " 

"  It  depends  largely  on  his  previous  record." 

"  Will  it  be  settled  to-day?  " 

"  If  the  jury  bring  in  a  verdict.  Sometimes  they  are 
out  all  night  on  these  cases." 

"A  jury!  Good  God!  A  jury  of  Irishmen  to  try 
an  Irishman  ?  " 

"  They're  being  trained  gradually,  sir." 

"  It  should  never  be  left  to  them  in  a  country  like  this. 
A  judge  should  have  the  power  of  condemning  such  bare- 
faced criminals,  without  trial." 

"  He'll  be  condemned,"  said  Roche  confidently. 

"  What  jury  will  convict  him  if  they  all  sympathise 
with  him  ?  Answer  me  that  ?  " 

"  That  was  one  difficulty  we  had  to  face  at  first,'* 
Roche  answered.  "  It  was  hard,  indeed,  as  you  say,  to 


get  an  Irishman  convicted  by  an  Irish  jury  —  especially 
the  agitators.  But  we've  changed  that.  We've  made 
them  see  that  loyalty  to  the  Throne  is  better  than  loy- 
alty to  a  Fenian." 

"  How  have  they  done  it?  " 

"  A  little  persuasion  and  some  slight  coercion,  sir." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.  It  would  be  a  crime  against  justice 
for  a  man  who  openly  breaks  the  law  not  to  be  punished 
through  being  tried  before  a  jury  of  sympathisers." 

"  Few  of  them  escape,  Mr.  Kingsnorth.  Dublin  Cas- 
tle found  the  way.  One  has  to  meet  craft  with  craft 
and  opposition  with  firmness.  Under  the  present  gov- 
ernment we've  succeeded  wonderfully."  Roche  smiled 
pleasantly  as  he  thought  of  the  many  convictions  he  had 
been  instrumental  in  procuring  himself. 

Kingsnorth  seemed  delighted  also. 

"  Good,"  he  said.  "  The  condition  of  things  here  is 
a  disgrace  —  mind  you,  I'm  not  criticising  the  actions 
of  the  officials,"  he  hastened  to  add. 

The  magistrate  bowed. 

Kingsnorth  went  on: 

"  But  the  attitude  of  the  people,  their  views,  their  con- 
duct, is  deplorable  — hopeless.  I  came  here  to  see  what 
I  could  do  for  them.  I  even  thought  of  spending  a  cer- 
tain portion  of  each  year  here.  But  from  what  I've 
heard  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time  and  money." 

"  It  is  discouraging,  at  first  sight,  but  we'll  have  a 
better  state  of  affairs  presently.  We  must  first  stamp 
out  the  agitator.  He  is  the  most  potent  handicap. 
Next  are  the  priests.  They  are  nearest  to  the  people. 
The  real  solution  of  the  Irish  difficulty  would  be  to  make 
the  whole  nation  Protestants." 

"Could  it  be  done?" 

"  It    would    take    time  — •  every  big    movement    takes 


66  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

time."  Roche  paused,  looked  shrewdly  at  Kingsnorth 
and  asked  him: 

"What  do  you  intend  doing  with  this  estate?" 

"  I  am  in  a  quandary.  I'm  almost  determined  to  put 
it  in  the  market.  Sell  it.  Be  rid  of  it.  It  has  always 
been  a  source  of  annoyance  to  our  family.  However, 
I'll  settle  nothing  until  I  return  to  London.  I'll  go  in  a 
few  days  —  much  sooner  than  I  intended.  This  man 
being  brought  into  my  house  has  annoyed  and  upset 
me." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  the  magistrate.  "  Miss  Kings- 
north  was  so  insistent  and  the  fellow  seemed  in  a  bad  way, 
otherwise  I  would  never  have  allowed  it." 

A  servant  came  in  response  to  Kingsnorth's  ring 
and  was  sent  with  a  message  to  have  the  man  O'Connell 
ready  to  accompany  the  magistrate  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. 

Over  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  cigar  the  two  men  re- 
sumed their  discussion. 

"  I  wouldn't  decide  too  hastily  about  disposing  of  the 
land.  Although  there's  always  a  good  deal  of  discon- 
tent there  is  really  very  little  trouble  here.  In  fact,  un- 
til agitators  like  O'Connell  came  amongst  us  we  had  ev- 
erything pretty  peaceful.  We'll  dispose  of  him  in  short 
order." 

"  Do.     Do.     Make  an  example  of  him." 

"  Trust  us  to  do  that,"  said  Roche.  After  a  moment 
he  added :  "  To  refer  again  to  selling  the  estate  you 
would  get  very  little  for  it.  It  can't  depreciate  much 
more,  and  there  is  always  the  chance  it  may  improve. 
Some  of  the  people  are  quite  willing  to  work — " 

"  Are  they?  They've  not  shown  any  willingness  to 
me." 

"  Oh,  no.     They  wouldn't." 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     67 

"What?     Not  to  their  landlord?" 

"  You'd  be  the  last  they'd  show  it  to.  They're  strange 
people  in  many  ways  until  you  get  to  know  them.  Now 
there  are  many  natural  resources  that  might  be  devel- 
oped if  some  capital  were  put  into  them." 

"  My  new  steward  discouraged  me  about  doing  that. 
He  said  it  might  be  ten  years  before  I  got  a  penny  out." 

"  Your  new  steward?  " 

"  Andrew  McPherson." 

"The  lawyer?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He's  a  hard  man,  sir." 

"  The  estate  needs  one." 

"  Burke  understands  the  people." 

"  He  sympathises  with  them.  I  don't  want  a  man 
like  that  working  for  me.  I  want  loyalty  to  my  inter- 
ests. The  makeshift  policy  of  Burke  during  my  father's 
lifetime  helped  to  bring  about  this  pretty  state  of  things. 
We'll  see  what  firmness  will  do.  New  broom.  Sweep 
the  place  clean.  Rid  it  of  slovenly,  ungrateful  tenants. 
Clear  away  the  tap-room  orators.  I  have  a  definite 
plan  in  my  mind.  If  I  decide  not  to  sell  I'll  perfect  my 
plan  in  London  and  begin  operations  as  soon  as  I'm  sat- 
isfied it  is  feasible  and  can  be  put  upon  a  proper  business 
basis.  There's  too  much  sentiment  in  Ireland.  That's 
been  their  ruin.  7  am  going  to  bring  a  little  common 
sense  into  play."  Kingsnorth  walked  restlessly  around 
the  room  as  he  spoke.  He  stopped  by  the  windows  and 
beckoned  the  magistrate. 

"There's  your  man  on  the  drive.  See?"  and  he 
pointed  to  where  O'Connell,  with  a  soldier  each  side  of 
him,  was  slowly  moving  down  the  long  avenue. 

The  door  of  the  room  opened  and  Angela  came  in  hur- 
riedly and  went  straight  to  where  the  two  men  stood. 


68  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

There  was  the  catch  of  a  sob  in  her  voice  as  she  spoke 
to  the  magistrate. 

"  Are  you  taking  that  poor  wounded  man  to  prison  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  says  he  is  well  enough  to  be  moved," 
replied  Roche. 

"  You've  not  seen  the  doctor.  I've  just  questioned 
him.  He  told  me  you  had  not  asked  his  opinion  and 
that  if  you  move  him  it  will  be  without  his  sanction." 

Kingsnorth  interrupted  angrily :  "  Please  don't  in- 
terfere." 

Angela  turned  on  him :  "  So,  it's  you  who  are  sending 
him  to  prison?  " 

"  I  am." 

Angela  appealed  to  the  magistrate. 

"  Don't  do  this,  I  entreat  you  —  don't  do  it." 

"  But  I  have  no  choice,  Miss  Kingsnorth." 

"  The  man  can  scarcely  walk,"  she  pleaded. 

"  He  will  receive  every  attention,  believe  me,  Miss 
Kingsnorth,"  Roche  replied. 

Angela  faced  her  brother  again. 

"  If  you  let  that  wounded  man  go  from  this  house 
to-day  you  will  regret  it  to  the  end  of  your  life."  Her 
face  was  dead-white;  her  breath  was  coming  thickly; 
her  eyes  were  fastened  in  hatred  on  her  brother's  face. 

"  Kindly  try  and  control  yourself,  Angela,"  Kings- 
north  said  sternly.  "  You  should  consider  my  position 
a  little  more  — " 

"  Your  position?  And  what  is  his?  You  with  ev- 
erything you  want  in  life  —  that  man  with  nothing.  He 
is  being  hounded  to  prison  for  what?  Pleading  for  his 
country!  Is  that  a  crime?  He  was  shot  down  by  sol- 
diers—  for  what?  For  showing  something  we  English 
are  always  boasting  of  feeling  ourselves  and  resent  any 
other  nation  feeling  it  —  patriotism !  " 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     69 

"  Stop  !  "   commanded  Kingsnorth. 

"  If  you  take  that  sick,  wretched  man  out  of  this 
house  it  will  be  a  crime — "  began  Angela. 

Kingsnorth  stopped  her:  he  turned  to  the  magistrate: 
"  Kindly  take  the  man  away." 

Roche  moved  to  the  window. 

Angela's  heart  sank.  All  her  pleading  was  in  vain. 
Her  voice  faltered  and  broke: 

"  Very  well.  Then  take  him.  Sentence  him  for  do- 
ing something  his  own  countrymen  will  one  day  build  a 
monument  to  him  for  doing.  The  moment  the  prison- 
door  closes  behind  him  a  thousand  voices  will  cry 
'  Shame  '  on  you  and  your  government,  and  a  thousand 
new  patriots  will  be  enrolled.  And  when  he  comes  out 
from  his  torture  he'll  carry  on  the  work  of  hatred  and 
vengeance  against  his  tyrants.  He  will  fight  you  to  the 
last  ditch.  You  may  torture  his  body,  but  you  cannot 
break  his  heart  or  wither  his  spirit.  They're  beyond 
you.  They're  —  they're  — ,"  she  stopped  suddenly,  as 
her  voice  rose  to  the  breaking-point,  and  left  the 
room. 

The  magistrate  went  down  the  drive.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments O'Connell  was  on  his  way  to  the  Court-House,  a 
closely  guarded  prisoner. 

Angela,  from  her  window,  watched  the  men  disappear. 
She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  moaned  as  she  had 
not  done  since  her  mother  left  her  just  a  few  years  be- 
fore. The  girlhood  in  her  was  dead.  She  was  a  woman. 
The  one  great  note  had  come  to  her,  transforming  her 
whole  nature  —  love. 

And  the  man  she  loved  was  being  carried  away  to  the 
misery  and  degradation  of  a  convict. 

Gradually  the  moans  died  away.  The  convulsive 
heaving  of  her  breast  subsided. 


70  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

A  little  later,  when  her  sister  Monica  came  in  search 
of  her,  she  found  Angela  in  a  dead  faint. 
By  night  she  was  in  a  fever. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TWO    LETTERS 

Dublin,   Ireland, 

Nov.  16th,  18 — 
Dear  Lady  of  Mercy: 

I  have  served  my  sentence.  I  am  free.  At  first  the  hor- 
rible humiliation  of  my  treatment,  of  my  surroundings,  of 
the  depths  I  had  to  sink  to,  burned  into  me.  Then  the 
thought  of  you  sustained  me.  Your  gentle  voice:  your 
beauty:  your  pity:  your  unbounded  faith  in  me  strengthened 
my  soul.  All  the  degradation  fell  from  me.  They  were 
but  ignoble  means  to  a  noble  end.  I  was  tortured  that 
others  might  never  know  sorrow.  I  was  imprisoned  that  my 
countrymen  might  know  liberty.  And  so  the  load  was 
lighter. 

The  memory  of  those  three  wonderful  days  was  so  mar- 
vellous, so  vivid,  that  it  shone  like  a  star  through  the  black- 
ness of  those  terrible  days. 

You  seem  to  have  taken  hold  of  my  heart  and  my  soul 
and  my  life. 

Forgive  me  for  writing  this  to  you,  but  it  seems  that  you 
are  the  only  one  I've  ever  known  who  understands  the  main- 
springs of  my  nature,  of  my  hopes  and  my  ambitions  — 
indeed,  of  my  very  thoughts. 

To-day  I  met  the  leader  of  my  party.  He  greeted  me 
warmly.  At  last  I  have  proved  myself  a  worthy  follower. 
They  think  it  best  I  should  leave  Ireland  for  a  while.  If  I 
take  active  part  at  once  I  shall  be  arrested  again  and  sent 
for  a  longer  sentence. 

They  have  offered  me  the  position  of  one  of  the  speakers 
in  a  campaign  in  America  to  raise  funds  for  the  "  Cause." 
I  must  first  see  the  Chief  in  London.  He  sent  a  message, 

71 


72  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

writing  in  the  highest  terms  of  my  work  and  expressing  a 
wish  to  meet  me.  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  possible  to  see 
you  in  London? 

If  I  am  sent  to  America  it  would  speed  my  going  to  speak 
to  you  again.  If  you  feel  that  I  ask  too  much,  do  not  an- 
swer this  and  I  will  understand. 

Out  of  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  from  the  depths  of  my 
soul,  and  with  the  whole  fervour  of  my  being,  I  ask  you  to 
accept  all  the  gratitude  of  a  heart  filled  to  overflowing. 

God  bless  and  keep  you. 

Yours  in  homage  and  gratitude, 

FRANK  OWEN  O'CONNELL. 

London,  Nov.  19th,  18 — 
My  dear  Mr.  O'Connell: 

I  am  glad  indeed  to  have  your  letter  and  to  know  you 
are  free  again.  I  have  often  thought  of  your  misery  during 
all  these  months  and  longed  to  do  something  to  assuage  it. 
It  is  only  when  a  friend  is  in  need  and  all  avenues  of  help 
are  closed  to  him  that  a  woman  realises  how  helpless 
she  is. 

That  they  have  not  crushed  your  spirit  does  not  surprise 
me.  I  was  as  sure  of  that  as  I  am  that  the  sun  is  shining 
to-day.  That  you  do  not  work  actively  in  Ireland  at  once 
is,  I  am  sure,  wise.  Foolhardiness  is  not  courage. 

In  a  little  while  the  English  government  may  realise  how 
hopeless  it  is  to  try  and  conquer  a  people  who  have  liberty 
in  their  hearts.  Then  they  will  abate  the  rigour  of  their 
unjust  laws. 

When  that  day  comes  you  must  return  and  take  up  the 
mission  with  renewed  strength  and  hope  and  stimulated  by 
the  added  experience  of  bitter  suffering. 

I  should  most  certainly  like  to  see  you  in  London.  I  am 
staying  with  a  distant  connection  of  the  family.  We  go 
to  the  south  of  France  in  a  few  weeks.  I  have  been  very 
ill  —  another  reproach  to  the  weakness  of  woman.  I  am 
almost  recovered  now  but  far  from  strong.  I  have  to  lie 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     73 

still  all  day.     My  only  companions  are  my  books   and  my 
thoughts. 

Let  me  know  when  you  expect  to  arrive  in  London.     Come 
straight  here. 

I  have  so  much  to  tell  you,  but  the  words  halt  as  they  come 
to  my  pen. 

Looking  forward  to  seeing  you, 

In  all  sincerity, 

ANGELA  KINGSNORTH. 


CHAPTER  X 

O'CONNELL    VISITS    ANGELA    IN    LONDON 

NATHANIEL  KINGSNORTH  stayed  only  long  enough 
in  Ireland  to  permit  of  Angela's  recovery. 

He  only  went  into  the  sick-room  once. 

When  Angela  saw  him  come  into  the  room  she  turned 
her  back  on  him  and  refused  to  speak  to  him. 

For  a  moment  a  flush  of  pity  for  his  young  sister 
gave  him  a  pang  at  his  heart.  She  looked  so  frail  and 
worn,  so  desperately  ill.  After  all  she  was  his  sister, 
and  again,  had  she  not  been  punished?  He  was  willing 
to  forget  the  foolhardy  things  she  had  done  and  the 
bitter  things  she  had  said. 

Let  bygones  be  bygones.  He  realised  that  he  had 
neglected  her.  He  would  do  so  no  longer.  Far  from  it. 
When  they  returned  to  London  all  that  would  be  reme- 
died. He  would  take  care  of  her  in  every  possible  way. 
He  felt  a  genuine  thrill  course  through  him  as  he  thought 
of  his  generosity. 

To  all  of  this  Angela  made  no  answer. 

Stung  by  her  silence,  he  left  the  room  and  sent  for  his 
other  sister.  When  Monica  came  he  told  her  that  when- 
ever Angela  wished  to  recognise  his  magnanimity  she 
could  send  for  him.  She  would  not  find  him  unforgiving. 

To  this  Angela  sent  no  reply. 

When  the  fever  had  passed  and  she  was  stronger,  ar- 
rangements were  made  for  the  journey  to  London. 

As  Angela  walked  unsteadily  to  the  carriage,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  the  nurse,  Nathaniel  came  forward  to  as- 
sist her.  She  passed  him  without  a  word.  Nor  did 

74 


she  speak  to  him  once,  nor  answer  any  remark  of  his, 
during  the  long  journey  on  the  train. 

When  they  reached  London  she  refused  to  go  to  the 
Kingsnorth  house,  where  her  brother  lived,  but  went  at 
once  to  a  distant  cousin  of  her  mother's  —  Mrs.  Wrex- 
ford  —  and  made  her  home  with  her,  as  she  had  often 
done  before.  She  refused  to  hold  any  further  commu- 
nication with  her  brother,  despite  the  ministrations  of 
her  sister  Monica  and  Mrs.  Wrexford. 

Mrs.  Wrexford  was  a  gentle  little  white-capped 
widow  whose  only  happiness  in  life  seemed  to  be  in  wor- 
rying over  others'  misfortunes.  She  was  on  the  board 
of  various  charitable  organisations  and  was  a  busy 
helper  in  the  field  of  mercy.  She  worshipped  Angela, 
as  she  had  her  mother  before  her.  That  something  seri- 
ous had  occurred  between  Angela  and  her  brother  Mrs. 
Wrexford  realised,  but  she  could  find  out  nothing  by 
questioning  Angela.  Every  time  she  asked  her  anything 
relative  to  her  attitude  Angela  was  silent. 

One  day  she  begged  Mrs.  Wrexford  never  to  speak  of 
her  brother  again.  Mrs.  Wrexford  respected  her  wishes 
and  watched  her  and  nursed  her  through  her  convales- 
cence with  a  tender  solicitude. 

When  O'Connell's  letter  came,  Angela  showed  it  to 
Mrs.  Wrexford,  together  with  her  reply. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  see  him  here?  "  Angela  asked. 

"  What  kind  of  man  is  he?  " 

"  The  kind  that  heroes   are  made  of." 

"  He  writes  so  strangely  —  may  one  say  unreservedly  ? 
Is  he  a  gentleman?  " 

"  In  the  real  meaning  of  the  word  —  yes." 

"Of  good  family?" 

"  Not  as  we  estimate  goodness.  His  family  were  just 
simple  peasants." 


76  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Do  you  think  it  wise  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  consider  the  wisdom.  I  only  listen  to  my 
heart." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  care  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  You  —  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  So  much  of  love  as  I  can  give  is  his." 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  cried  Mrs.  Wrexford,  thoroughly 
alarmed. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Angela,  quietly.  "  Our  ways 
lie  wide  apart.  He  is  working  for  the  biggest  thing  in 
life.  His  work  is  his  life.  I  am  nothing." 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  would  be  indiscreet,  dear,  to 
have  such  a  man  come  here?  " 

"  Why  —  indiscreet?  " 

"  A  man  who  has  been  in  prison ! "  and  Mrs.  Wrex- 
ford shuddered  at  the  thought.  She  had  seen  and 
helped  so  many  poor  victims  of  the  cruel  laws,  and  the 
memory  of  their  drawn  faces  and  evil  eyes,  and  coarse 
speech,  flashed  across  her  mind.  She  could  not  recon- 
cile one  coming  into  her  little  home. 

Angela  answered  her: 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  in  prison,  but  the  shame  was  for 
his  persecutors  —  not  for  him.  Still,  if  you  would  rath- 
er I  saw  him  somewhere  else  — " 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear  child.     If  you  wish  it  — " 

"  I  do.  I  just  want  to  see  him  again,  as  he  writes  he 
does  me.  I  want  to  hear  him  speak  again.  I  want  to 
wish  him  '  God-speed '  on  his  journey." 

"  Very  well,  Angela,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  As  you 
wish." 

A  week  afterwards  O'Connell  arrived  in  London. 
They  met  in  Mrs.  Wrexford's  little  drawing-room  in 
Mayfair. 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  some  moments  without 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     77 

speaking.  Both  noted  the  fresh  lines  of  suffering  in 
each  other's  faces.  They  had  been  through  the  long 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  sorrow  since  they  had  last  met. 

But  O'Connell  thought,  as  he  looked  at  her,  that  all 
the  suffering  he  had  gone  through  passed  from  him  as 
some  hideous  dream.  It  was  worth  it  —  these  months  of 
torture  —  just  to  be  looking  at  her  now.  Worth  the  long 
black  nights  —  the  labours  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  with 
life's  outcasts  around  him ;  the  taunts  of  his  gaolers : 
worth  all  the  infamy  of  it  —  just  to  stand  there  looking 
at  her. 

She  had  taken  his  life  in  her  two  little  hands. 

He  had  bathed  his  soul  all  these  months  in  the  thought 
of  her.  He  had  prayed  night  and  day  that  he  might  see 
her  standing  near  him  just  as  she  was  then:  see  the 
droop  of  her  eye  and  the  silk  of  her  hair  and  feel  the 
touch  of  her  hand  and  hear  the  exquisite  tenderness  of 
her  voice. 

He  stood  mute  before  her. 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  said  simply: 

"  Thank  you  for  coming." 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  let  me,"  he  answered  hoarsely. 

"  They  have  not  broken  your  spirit  or  your  courage?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied  tensely ;  "  they  are  the  stronger." 

"  I  thought  they  would  be,"  she  said  proudly. 

All  the  while  he  was  looking  at  the  pale  face  and  the 
thin  transparency  of  her  hands. 

"  But  you  have  suffered,  too.  You  have  been  ill. 
Were  you  in  —  danger  ?  "  His  voice  had  a  catch  of 
fear  in  it  as  he  asked  the,  to  him,  terrible  question. 

"  No.  It  was  just  a  fever.  It  is  past.  I  am  a  little 
weak  —  a  little  tired.  That  will  pass,  too." 

"  If  anything  had  happened  to  you  —  or  ever  should 
happen !  "  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  moaned : 


78  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Oh,  my  God !     Oh,  my  God !  " 

His  body  shook  with  the  sobs  he  tried  vainly  to  check. 
Angela  put  her  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  she  whispered. 

He  controlled  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  It  will  be  over  in  a  moment.  Just  a  moment.  I 
am  sorry." 

He  suddenly  knelt  at  her  feet,  his  head  bowed  in  rev- 
erence. "  God  help  me,"  he  cried  faintly,  "  I  love  you ! 
I  love  you !" 

She  looked  down  at  him,  her  face  transfigured. 

He  loved  her! 

The  beat  of  her  heart  spoke  it !  "  He  loves  you ! " 
the  throbbing  of  her  brain  shouted  it :  "  He  loves  you !  " 
the  cry  of  her  soul  whispered  it :  "  He  loves  you !  " 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  to  him : 

"  My  love  is  yours,  just  as  yours  is  mine.  Let  us 
join  our  lives  and  give  them  to  the  suffering  and  the 
oppressed." 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  wonder. 

"  I  daren't.     Think  what  I  am." 

"  You  are  the  best  that  is  in  me.     We  are  mates." 

"  A  peasant !     A  beggar !  " 

"  You  are  the  noblest  of  the  noble." 

"A  convict." 

"  Our  Saviour  was  crucified  so  that  His  people  should 
be  redeemed.  You  have  given  the  pain  of  your  body 
so  that  your  people  may  be  free." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  you,"  he  pleaded. 

"  If  you  leave  me  it  will  be  unfair  to  us  both." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  one !     My  dear  one !  " 

He  folded  her  in  his  arms: 

"  I'll  give  the  best  of  my  days  to  guard  you  and  pro- 
tect you  and  bring  you  happiness." 

"  I  am  happy  now,"  and  her  voice  died  to  a  whisper. 


CHAPTER  XI 

KINGSNORTH  IN  DESPAIR 

THREE  days  afterwards  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth  re- 
turned late  at  night  from  a  political  banquet. 

It  had  been  a  great  evening.  At  last  it  seemed  that 
life  was  about  to  give  him  what  he  most  wished  for.  His 
dearest  ambitions  were,  apparently,  about  to  be  realised. 

He  had  been  called  on,  as  a  staunch  Conservative,  to 
add  his  quota  to  the  already  wonderful  array  of  brilliant 
perorations  of  seasoned  statesmen  and  admirable  speak- 
ers. 

Kingsnorth  had  excelled  himself. 

Never  had  he  spoken  so  powerfully. 

Being  one  of  the  only  men  at  the  banquet  who  had 
enjoyed  even  a  brief  glimpse  of  Ireland,  he  made  the  so- 
lution of  the  Irish  question  the  main  topic  of  his  speech. 
Speaking  lucidly  and  earnestly,  he  placed  before  them  his 
panacea  for  Irish  ills. 

His  hearers  were  enthralled. 

When  he  sat  down  the  cheering  was  prolonged.  The 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  an  old  friend  of  his  late 
father,  spoke  most  glowingly  to  him  and  of  him  in  his 
hearing.  The  junior  Whip  hinted  at  his  contesting  a 
seat  at  a  coming  bye-election  in  the  North  of  Ireland. 
A  man  with  his  knowledge  of  Ireland  —  as  he  had  shown 
that  night  —  would  be  invaluable  to  his  party. 

When  he  left  the  gathering  he  was  in  a  condition  of 
ecstasy.  Lying  back,  amid  the  cushions,  during  his 
long  drive  home,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  pictured  the  fu- 
ture. His  imagination  ran  riot.  It  took  wings  and 

79 


80  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

flew  from  height  to  height.  He  saw  himself  the  leader 
of  a  party  —  "  The  Kingsnorth  Party !  " —  controlling 
his  followers  with  a  hand  of  iron,  and  driving  them  to 
vote  according  to  his  judgment  and  his  decree. 

By  the  time  he  reached  home  he  had  entered  the  Cab- 
inet and  was  being  spoken  of  as  the  probable  Prime  Min- 
ister. But  for  the  sudden  stopping  of  the  horses  he 
might  have  attained  that  proud  distinction. 

The  pleasant  warmth  of  the  entrance  hall  on  this  chill 
November  night,  greeted  him  as  a  benignant  welcome. 
He  hummed  a  tune  cheerfully  as  he  climbed  the  stairs, 
and  was  smiling  genially  when  he  entered  the  massive 
study. 

He  poured  out  a  liqueur  and  stood  sipping  it  as  he 
turned  over  the  letters  brought  by  the  night's  post. 
One  arrested  him.  It  had  been  delivered  by  hand,  and 
was  marked  "  Most  Urgent."  He  lit  a  cigar  and  tore 
open  the  envelope.  As  he  read  the  letter  every  vestige 
of  colour  left  his  face.  He  sank  into  a  chair :  the  letter 
slipped  from  his  fingers.  All  his  dreams  had  vanished 
in  a  moment.  His  house  of  cards  had  toppled  down. 
His  ambitions  were  surely  and  positively  destroyed  at 
one  stroke.  He  mechanically  picked  up  the  letter  and 
re-read  it.  Had  it  been  his  death-sentence  it  could  not 
have  affected  him  more  cruelly. 

"Dear  Nathaniel: 

I  scarcely  know  how  to  write  to  you  about  what  has  hap- 
pened. I  am  afraid  I  am  in  some  small  measure  to  blame. 
Ten  days  ago  your  sister  showed  me  a  letter  from  a  man 
named  O'Connell — [Kingsnorth  crushed  the  letter  in  his 
hand  as  he  read  the  hated  name  —  the  name  of  the  man 
who  had  caused  him  so  much  discomfort  during  that  unfor- 
tunate visit  to  his  estate  in  Ireland.  How  he  blamed  himself 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  IRISH  AGITATOR     81 

now  for  having  ever  gone  there.     There  was  indeed  a  curse 
on  it  for  the  Kingsnorths. 

He  straightened  out  the  crumpled  piece  of  paper  and  read 
on]: —  a  man  named  O'Connell  —  the  man  she  nursed  in 
your  house  in  Ireland  after  he  had  been  shot  by  the  soldiers. 
He  was  coming  to  England  and  wished  to  see  her.  She 
asked  my  permission.  I  reasoned  with  her  —  but  she  was 
decided.  If  I  should  not  permit  her  to  see  him  in  my  house 
she  would  meet  him  elsewhere.  It  seemed  better  the  meet- 
ing should  be  under  my  roof,  so  I  consented.  I  bitterly 
reproach  myself  now  for  not  acquainting  you  with  the  par- 
ticulars. You  might  have  succeeded  in  stopping  what  has 
happened. 

Your  sister  and  O'Connell  were  married  this  morning  by 
special  licence  and  left  this  afternoon  for  Liverpool,  en 
route  to  America. 

I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you  how  much  I  deplore  the  un- 
fortunate affair.  It  will  always  be  a  lasting  sorrow  to  me. 
I  cannot  write  any  more  now.  My  head  is  aching  with  the 
thought  of  what  it  will  mean  to  you.  Try  not  to  think  too 
hardly  of  me  and  believe  me 

Always  your  affectionate  cousin, 

MARY  CAROLINE  WREXFORD. 

Kingsnorth's  head  sank  on  to  his  breast.  Every  bit 
of  life  left  him.  Everything  about  his  feet.  Ashes. 
The  laughing-stock  of  his  friends. 

Were  Angela  there  at  that  moment  he  could  have 
killed  her. 

The  humiliation  of  it !  The  degradation  of  it !  Mar- 
ried to  that  lawless  Irish  agitator.  The  man  now  a 
member  of  his  family !  A  cry  of  misery  broke  from  him, 
as  he  realised  that  the  best  years  of  his  life  were  to  come 
and  go  fruitlessly.  His  career  was  ended.  Despair  lay 
heavy  on  his  soul. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LOOKING    FORWARD 

STANDING  on  the  main  deck  of  an  Atlantic  liner  stood 
Angela  and  O'Connell. 

They  were  facing  the  future  together. 
Their  faces  were  turned  to  the  West. 
The  sun  was  sinking  in  a  blaze  of  colour. 
Their  eyes  lighted  up  with  the  joy  of  hope. 
Love  was  in  their  hearts. 


BOOK  II 

t 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROMANCE 


CHAPTER  I 

ANGELA'S  CONFESSION 

A  YEAR  after  the  events  in  the  preceding  book  took 
place  O'Connell  and  his  young  wife  were  living  in  a  small 
apartment  in  one  of  the  poorer  sections  of  New  York 
City. 

The  first  few  months  in  America  had  been  glorious 
ones  for  them.  Their  characters  and  natures  unfolded 
to  each  other  as  some  wonderful  paintings,  each  taking 
its  own  hues  from  the  adoration  of  the  other. 

In  company  with  a  noted  Irish  organiser  O'Connell 
had  spoken  in  many  of  the  big  cities  of  the  United 
States  and  was  everywhere  hailed  as  a  hero  and  a  mar- 
tyr to  English  tyranny. 

But  he  had  one  ever-present  handicap  —  a  drawback 
he  had  never  felt  during  the  years  of  struggle  preceding 
his  marriage.  His  means  were  indeed  smalL  He  tried 
to  eke  out  a  little  income  writing  articles  for  the  news- 
papers and  magazines.  But  the  recompense  was  piti- 
ful. He  could  not  bear,  without  a  pang,  to  see  Angela 
in  the  dingy  surroundings  that  he  could  barely  afford 
to  provide  for  her. 

On  her  part  Angela  took  nothing  with  her  but  a  few 
jewels  her  mother  had  left  her,  some  clothes  and  very 
little  money.  The  money  soon  disappeared  and  then 
one  by  one  the  keepsakes  of  her  mother  were  parted  with. 
But  they  never  lost  heart.  Through  it  all  they  were 
happy.  All  the  poetry  of  O'Connell's  nature  came  up- 
permost, leavened,  as  it  was,  by  the  deep  faith  and  ven- 
eration of  his  wife. 

85 


86  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

This  strangely  assorted  fervent  man  and  gentle  woman 
seemed  to  have  solved  the  great  mystery  of  happiness 
between  two  people. 

But  the  poverty  chafed  (yConnell  —  not  for  himself, 
but  for  the  frail,  loving,  uncomplaining  woman  who  had 
given  her  life  into  his  care. 

His  active  brain  was  continually  trying  to  devise  new 
ways  of  adding  to  his  meagre  income.  He  multiplied 
his  duties:  he  worked  far  into  the  night  when  he  could 
find  a  demand  for  his  articles.  But  little  by  little  his 
sources  of  revenue  failed  him. 

Some  fresh  and  horrible  Agrarian  crimes  in  Ireland, 
for  which  the  Home  Rule  party  were  blamed,  for  a  while 
turned  the  tide  of  sympathy  against  his  party.  The 
order  was  sent  out  to  discontinue  meetings  for  the  pur- 
pose of  collecting  funds  in  America  —  funds  the  Irish- 
Americans  had  been  so  cheerfully  and  plentifully  bestow- 
ing on  the  "  Cause." 

O'Connell  was  recalled  to  Ireland.  His  work  was 
highly  commended. 

Some  day  they  would  send  him  to  the  United  States 
again  as  a  Special  Pleader.  At  present  he  would  be  of 
greater  value  at  home. 

He  was  instructed  to  apply  to  the  treasurer  of  the 
fund  and  arrangements  would  be  made  for  his  passage 
back  to  Ireland. 

He  brought  the  news  to  Angela  with  a  strange  feel- 
ing of  fear  and  disappointment.  He  had  built  so  much 
on  making  a  wonderful  career  in  the  great  New  World 
and  returning  home  some  day  to  Ireland  with  the  means 
of  relieving  some  of  her  misery  and  with  his  wife 
guarded,  as  she  should  be,  from  the  possibility  of  want. 
And  here  was  he  going  back  to  Ireland  as  poor  as  he  left 
it  —  though  richer  immeasurably  in  the  love  of  Angela. 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROMANCE  87 

She  was  sitting  perfectly  still,  her  eyes  on  the  floor, 
when  he  entered  the  room.  He  came  in  so  softly  that 
she  did  not  hear  him.  He  lifted  her  head  and  looked 
into  her  eyes.  He  noticed  with  certainty  what  had  been 
so  far  only  a  vague,  ill-defined  dread.  Her  face  was 
very,  very  pale  and  transparent.  Her  eyes  were  sunken 
and  had  a  strange  brilliancy.  She  was  much  slighter 
and  far  more  ethereal  than  on  that  day  when  they  stood 
on  the  deck  of  the  ship  and  turned  their  faces  so  hope- 
fully to  the  New  World. 

He  felt  a  knife-like  stab  startle  through  his  blood  to 
his  heart.  His  breath  caught. 

Angela  looked  up  at  him  radiantly. 

He  kissed  her  and  with  mock  cheerfulness  he  said, 
laughingly : 

"  Such  news,  me  darlin' !     Such  wondherful  news  !  " 

"  Good  news,  dear?  " 

"  The  best  in  the  wurrld,"  and  he  choked  a  sob. 

"  I  knew  it  would  come !  I  knew  it  would.  Tell  me, 
dear." 

"  We're  to  go  back  —  back  to  Ireland.  See  —  here 
are  the  orders,"  and  he  showed  her  the  official  letter. 

She  took  it  wonderingly  and  read  it.  Her  hand 
dropped  to  her  side.  Her  head  drooped  into  the  same 
position  he  had  found  her  in.  In  a  moment  he  was 
kneeling  at  her  side: 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"We  can't  go,  Frank." 

"We  can't  go?     What  are  ye  sayin',  dear?" 

"  We  can't  go,"  she  repeated,  her  body  crumpled  up 
limply  in  the  chair. 

"  And  why  not,  Angela  ?  I  know  I  can't  take  ye  back 
as  I  brought  ye  here,  dear,  if  that's  what  ye  mane.  The 
luck's  been  against  me.  It's  been  cruel  hard  against 


88  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

me.  An'  that  thought  is  tearin'  at  me  heart  this  min- 
nit." 

"  It  isn't  that,  Frank,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  hoped  it  would  be  so  different  — 
so  very  different." 

"  What  did  ye  think  would  be  so  different,  dear?  Our 
going  back?  Is  that  what's  throublin'  ye?  " 

"  No,  Frank.  Not  that.  I  don't  care  how  we  go 
back  so  long  as  you  are  with  me."  He  pressed  her  hand. 
In  a  moment  she  went  on :  "  But  we  can't  go.  We 
can't  go.  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  can't  you  guess? 
Can't  you  think?  "  She  looked  imploringly  into  his  eyes. 

A  new  wonder  came  into  his.  Could  it  be  true  ?  Could 
it?  He  took  both  her  hands  and  held  them  tightly  and 
stood  up,  towering  over  her,  and  trembling  violently. 

"  Is  it  —  is  it  —  ?  "  he  cried  and  stopped  as  if  afraid 
to  complete  the  question. 

She  smiled  a  wan  smile  up  at  him  and  nodded  her  head 
as  she  answered: 

"  The  union  of  our  lives  is  to  be  complete.  Our  love  is 
to  be  rewarded." 

"  A  child  is  coming  to  us  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  It  is,"  and  her  voice  was  hushed,  too. 

"  Praise  be  to  God !  Praise  be  to  His  Holy  Name," 
and  O'Connell  clasped  his  hands  in  prayer. 

In  a  little  while  she  went  on :  "  It  was  the  telling  you 
I  wanted  to  be  so  different.  I  wanted  you,  when  you 
heard  it,  to  be  free  of  care  —  happy.  And  I've  waited 
from  day  to  day  hoping  for  the  best  —  that  some  good 
fortune  would  come  to  you." 

He  forced  one  of  his  old  time,  hearty  laughs,  but  there 
was  a  hollow  ring  in  it : 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROMANCE  89 

"What  is  that  yer  sayin'  at  all?  Wait  for  good  for- 
tune? Is  there  any  good  fortune  like  what  ye've  just 
told  me?  Sure  I'm  ten  times  the  happier  man  since  I 
came  into  this  room."  He  put  his  arm  around  her  and 
sitting  beside  her  drew  her  closely  to  him.  "  Listen, 
dear,"  he  said,  "  listen.  We'll  go  back  to  the  old  country. 
Our  child  shall  be  born  where  we  first  met.  There'll  be 
no  danger.  No  one  shall  harm  us  with  that  little  life 
trembling  in  the  balance  —  the  little  precious  lifev  If 
it's  a  girl-child  she'll  be  the  mother  of  her  people ;  and  if 
it  be  a  man-child  he  shall  grow  up  to  carry  on  his  father's 
work.  So  there  —  there  —  me  darlin',  we'll  go  back  — 
we'll  go  back." 

She  shook  her  head  feebly.     "  I  can't,"  she  said. 

"Why  not,  dear?" 

"  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you.  But  now  you  make  me. 
Frank,  dear,  I  am  ill." 

His  heart  almost  stopped.  "  111?  Oh,  my  darlin', 
what  is  it?  Is  it  serious?  Tell  me  it  isn't  serious?" 
and  his  voice  rang  with  a  note  of  agony. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  think  so.  I  saw  the  doctor  to-day. 
He  said  I  must  be  careful  —  very  careful  until  —  until  — 
our  baby  is  born." 

"  An'  ye  kept  it  all  to  yerself,  me  brave  one,  me  dear 
one.  All  right.  We  won't  go  back.  We'll  stay  here. 
I'll  make  them  find  me  work.  I'm  strong.  I'm  clever 
too  and  crafty,  Angela.  I'll  wring  it  from  this  hustling 
city.  I'll  fight  it  and  beat  it.  Me  darlin'  shall  have 
everything  she  wants.  My  little  mother  —  my  precious 
little  mother." 

He  cradled  her  in  his  strong  arms  and  together  they 
sat  for  hours  and  the  pall  of  his  poverty  fell  from  them 
and  they  pictured  the  future  rose-white  and  crowned  with 


90  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

gold  —  a  future  in  which  there  were  three  —  the  trinity 
one  and  undivided. 

Presently  she  fell  asleep  in  his  arms.  He  raised  his 
eyes  to  heaven  and  prayed  God  to  help  him  in  his  hour 
of  striving.  He  prayed  that  the  little  life  sleeping  so 
calmly  in  his  arms  would  be  spared  him. 

"  Oh  God !  answer  my  prayer,  I  beseech  you,"  he  cried. 
Angela  smiled  contentedly  in  her  sleep  and  spoke  his 
name.  It  seemed  to  O'Connell  as  if  his  prayer  had  been 
heard  and  answered.  He  gathered  the  slight  form  up  in 
his  arms  and  carried  her  to  her  room  and  sat  by  her  until 
dawn. 

It  was  the  first  night  for  many  weeks  that  she  had  slept 
through  till  morning  without  starting  out  of  her  sleep  in 
pain.  This  night  she  slumbered  like  a  child  and  a  smile 
played  on  her  lips  as  though  her  dreams  were  happy  ones. 


CHAPTER  II 

A    COMMUNICATION    FROM    NATHANIEL   KINGSNOB.TH 

THE  months  that  followed  were  the  hardest  in  O'Con- 
nell's  life.  Strive  as  he  would  he  could  find  no  really 
remunerative  employment.  He  had  no  special  training. 
He  knew  no  trade.  His  pen,  though  fluent,  was  not  cul- 
tured and  lacked  the  glow  of  eloquence  he  had  when 
speaking.  He  worked  in  shops  and  in  factories.  He 
tried  to  report  on  newspapers.  But  his  lack  of  experience 
everywhere  handicapped  him.  What  he  contrived  to  earn 
during  those  months  of  struggle  was  all  too  little  as  the 
time  approached  for  the  great  event. 

Angela  was  now  entirely  confined  to  her  bed.  She 
seemed  to  grow  more  spirit-like  every  day.  A  terrible 
dread  haunted  O'Connell  waking  and  sleeping.  He  would 
start  out  of  some  terrible  dream  at  night  and  listen  to  her 
breathing.  When  he  would  hurry  back  at  the  close  of 
some  long,  disappointing  day  his  heart  would  be  hammer- 
ing dully  with  fear  for  his  loved  one. 

As  the  months  wore  on  his  face  became  lined  with  care, 
and  the  bright  gold  of  his  hair  dimmed  with  streaks  of 
silver.  But  he  never  faltered  or  lost  courage.  He  al- 
ways felt  he  must  win  the  fight  now  for  existence  as  he 
meant  to  win  the  greater  conflict  later  —  for  liberty. 

Angela,  lying  so  still,  through  the  long  days,  could 
only  hope.  She  felt  so  helpless.  It  was  woman's  weak- 
ness that  brought  men  like  O'Connell  to  the  edge  of  de- 
spair. And  hers  was  not  merely  bodily  weakness  but  the 
more  poignant  one  of  Pride.  Was  it  fair  to  her  hus- 
band? Was  it  just?  In  England  she  had  prosperous 

91 


92  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

relatives.  They  would  not  let  her  die  in  her  misery. 
They  could  not  let  her  baby  come  into  the  world  with 
poverty  as  its  only  inheritance.  Till  now  she  had  been 
unable  to  master  her  feeling  of  hatred  and  bitterness  for 
her  brother  Nathaniel;  her  intense  dislike  and  contempt 
for  her  sister  Monica.  From  the  time  she  left  England 
she  had  not  written  to  either  of  them.  Could  she  now? 
Something  decided  her. 

One  night  O'Connell  came  back  disheartened.  Try  as 
he  would,  he  could  not  conceal  it.  He  was  getting  to  the 
end  of  his  courage.  There  was  insufficient  work  at  the 
shop  he  had  been  working  in  for  several  weeks.  He  had 
been  told  he  need  not  come  again. 

Angela,  lying  motionless  and  white,  tried  to  comfort 
him  and  give  him  heart. 

She  made  up  her  mind  that  night.  The  next  day  she 
wrote  to  her  brother. 

She  could  not  bring  herself  to  express  one  regret  for 
what  she  had  done  or  said.  On  the  contrary  she  made 
many  references  to  her  happiness  with  the  man  she  loved. 
She  did  write  of  the  hardships  they  were  passing  through. 
But  they  were  only  temporary.  O'Connell  was  so  clever 
—  so  brilliant  —  he  must  win  in  the  end.  Only  just  now 
she  was  ill.  She  needed  help.  She  asked  no  gift  —  a 
loan  —  merely.  They  would  pay  it  back  when  the  days 
of  plenty  came.  She  would  not  ask  even  this  were  it  not 
that  she  was  not  only  ill,  but  the  one  great  wonderful 
thing  in  the  world  was  to  be  vouchsafed  her  —  mother- 
hood. In  the  name  of  her  unborn  baby  she  begged  him 
to  send  an  immediate  response. 

She  asked  a  neighbour  to  post  the  letter  so  that  O'Con- 
nell would  not  know  of  her  sacrifice.  She  waited  anx- 
iously for  a  reply. 

Some  considerable  time  afterwards  —  on  the  eve  of  her 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROMANCE  93 

travail  and  when  things  with  O'Connell  were  at  their 
worst  —  the  answer  came  by  cable. 

She  was  alone  when  it  came. 

Her  heart  beat  furiously  as  she  opened  it.  Even  if  he 
only  sent  a  little  it  would  be  so  welcome  now  when  they 
were  almost  at  the  end.  If  he  had  been  generous  how 
wonderful  it  would  be  for  her  to  help  the  man  to  whom 
nothing  was  too  much  to  give  her.  The  fact  that  her 
brother  had  cabled  strengthened  the  belief  that  he  had 
hastened  to  come  to  her  rescue. 

She  opened  the  cable  and  read  it.  Then  she  fell  back 
on  the  pillow  with  a  low,  faint  moan. 

When,  hours  later,  O'Connell  returned  from  a  vain 
search  for  work  he  found  her  senseless,  with  the  cable  In 
her  fingers.  He  tried  to  recover  her  without  success. 
He  sent  a  neighbour  for  a  doctor.  As  he  watched  the 
worn,  patient  face,  his  heart  full  to  bursting,  the  thought 
flashed  through  him  —  what  could  have  happened  to 
cause  this  collapse?  He  became  conscious  of  the  cable 
he  had  found  tightly  clasped  in  her  hand.  He  picked  it 
up  and  read  it.  It  was  very  brief: 

You  have  made  your  bed    lie  in  it. 

NATHANIEL   KINGSNORTH. 

was  all  it  said. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  BIRTH  OF  PEG 

TOWARD  morning  the  doctor  placed  a  little  mite  of 
humanity  in  O'Connell's  arms.  He  looked  down  at  it  in  a 
stupor.  It  had  really  come  to  pass.  Their  child  — 
[Angela's  and  his!  A  little  baby-girl.  The  tiny  wail 
from  this  child,  born  of  love  and  in  sorrow,  seemed  to 
waken  his  dull  senses.  He  pressed  the  mite  to  him  as  the 
hot  tears  flowed  down  his  cheeks.  A  woman  in  one  of  the 
adjoining  flats  who  had  kindly  offered  to  help  took  the 
child  away  from  him.  The  doctor  led  him  to  the  bedside. 
He  looked  down  at  his  loved  one.  A  glaze  was  over 
Angela's  eyes  as  she  looked  up  at  him.  She  tried  to 
smile.  All  her  suffering  was  forgotten.  She  knew  only 
pride  and  love.  She  was  at  peace.  She  raised  her  hand, 
thin  and  transparent  now,  to  O'Connell.  He  pressed  it 
to  his  lips. 

She  whispered: 

"  My  baby.     Bring  me  —  my  baby." 

He  took  it  from  the  woman  and  placed  it  in  Angela's 
weak  arms.  She  kissed  it  again  and  again.  The  child 
wailed  pitifully.  The  effort  had  been  too  much  for 
Angela's  failing  strength.  Consciousness  left  her. 


Just  before  sunrise  she  woke.  O'Connell  was  sitting 
beside  her.  He  had  never  moved.  The  infant  was  sleep- 
ing on  some  blankets  on  the  couch  —  the  woman  watching 
her. 

Angela  motioned  her  husband  to  bend  near  to  her. 

94 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROMANCE  95 

Her  eyes  shone  with  unearthly  brightness.  He  put  his 
ear  near  her  lips.  Her  voice  was  very,  very  faint. 

"  Take  —  care  —  of  —  our  —  baby  —  Frank.  I'm  — 
I'm  —  leaving  you.  God  —  help  —  you  —  and  —  keep 
—  you  —  and  bless  you  —  for  —  your  —  love  —  of  me." 
She  paused  to  take  breath  —  then  she  whispered  her 
leave-taking.  The  words  never  left  O'Connell's  memory 
for  all  the  days  of  all  the  years  that  followed. 

"  My  —  last  —  words  —  dear  —  the  —  last  —  I'll  — 
ever  —  speak  —  to  —  you.  I  —  I  —  love  —  you  — 
with  —  all  —  my  heart  —  and  —  my  soul  —  husband! 
Good  —  good-bye  —  Frank."  She  slipped  from  his  arms 
and  lay,  lips  parted,  eyes  open,  body  still. 

The  struggle  was  over.  She  had  gone  where  there  are 
no  petty  treacheries,  no  mean  brutalities  —  where  all 
stand  alike  before  the  Throne  to  render  an  account  of 
their  stewardship. 

The  brave,  gentle  little  heart  was  stilled  forever. 


BOOK  HI 

"t 

PEG 


CHAPTER  I 

PEG'S  CHILDHOOD 

AND  now  Peg  appears  for  the  first  time,  and  brings  her 
radiant  presence,  her  roguish  smile,  her  big,  frank,  soul- 
ful, blue  eyes,  her  dazzling  red  hair,  her  direct,  honest 
and  outspoken  truth:  her  love  of  all  that  is  clean  and 
pure  and  beautiful  —  Peg  enters  our  pages  and  turns 
what  was  a  history  of  romance  and  drama  into  a  Comedy, 
of  Youth. 

Peg  —  pure  as  a  mountain  lily,  sweet  as  a  fragrant 
rose,  haunting  as  an  old  melody  —  Peg  o'  our  Hearts 
comes  into  our  story,  even  as  she  entered  her  father's 
life,  as  the  Saviour  of  these  pages,  even  as  she  was  the 
means  of  saving  O'Connell. 

And  she  did  save  her  father. 

It  was  the  presence  and  the  thought  of  the  little  mother- 
less baby  that  kept  O'Connell's  hand  from  destroying 
himself  when  his  reason  almost  left  him  after  his  wife's 
death.  The  memories  of  the  days  immediately  following 
the  passing  of  Angela  are  too  painful  to  dwell  upon. 

They  are  past.  They  are  sacred  in  O'Connell's  heart. 
They  will  be  to  the  historian. 

Thanks  to  some  kindly  Irishmen  who  heard  of  O'Con- 
nell's plight  he  borrowed  enough  money  to  bury  his  dead 
wife  and  place  a  tablet  to  her  memory. 

He  sent  a  message  to  Kingsnorth  telling  him  of  his 
sister's  death.  He  neither  expected  nor  did  he  receive 
an  answer. 

As  soon  as  it  was  possible  he  returned  to  Ireland  ano! 

threw  himself  once  again  heart  and  soul  into  working 

99 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

for  the  "  Cause."  He  realised  his  only  hope  of  keeping 
his  balance  was  to  work.  He  went  back  to  the  little  village 
he  was  born  in  and  it  was  Father  Cahill's  hands  that 
poured  the  baptismal  waters  on  O'Connell's  and  Angela's 
baby  and  it  was  Father  Cahill's  voice  that  read  the  bap- 
tismal service. 

She  was  christened  Margaret. 

Angela,  one  night,  when  it  was  nearing  her  time,  begged 
him  if  it  were  a  girl  to  christen  her  Margaret  after  her 
mother,  since  all  the  best  in  Angela  came  from  her 
mother. 

O'Connell  would  have  liked  to  have  named  the  mite 
"  Angela."  But  his  dead  wife's  wishes  were  paramount. 
So  Margaret  the  baby  was  christened.  It  was  too  dis- 
tinguished a  name  and  too  long  for  such  a  little  bundle 
of  pink  and  white  humanity.  It  did  not  seem  to  fit  her. 
So,  "  Peg  "  she  was  named  and  "  Peg  "  she  remained  for 
the  rest  of  her  life. 

When  she  was  old  enough  to  go  with  him  O'Connell 
took  Peg  everywhere.  He  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life 
when  she  was  with  him. 

Peg's  earliest  memories  are  of  the  village  where  she  was 
baptised  and  where  her  father  was  born.  Her  little  will 
was  law  to  everyone  who  came  in  contact  with  her.  She 
ruled  her  little  court  with  a  hand  of  iron. 

Many  were  the  dire  predictions  of  the  rod  O'Connell 
was  making  for  his  own  back  in  giving  the  little  mite  her 
own  way  in  everything. 

But  O'Connell's  only  happiness  was  in  Peg  and  he 
neither  heard  nor  cared  about  any  criticism  that  may 
have  been  levelled  at  him  for  his  fond,  and,  perhaps, 
foolish  care  of  her. 

Looming  large  in  Peg's  memories  in  after  life  are  her 
father  showing  her  St.  Kernan's  Hill,  and  pointing  out 


PEG  101 

the  mount  on  which  he  stood  and  spoke  that  day,  whilst 
her  mother,  hidden  by  that  dense  mass  of  trees,  saw  every 
movement  and  heard  every  word.  From  there  he  took  her 
to  "  The  Gap  "  and  pointed  out  the  windows  of  the  room 
in  which  he  was  nursed  for  those  three  blessed  days. 

It  eased  his  mind  to  talk  to  the  child  of  Angela  and 
always  he  pictured  her  as  the  poet  writes  in  verse  of  the 
passion  of  his  life:  as  the  painter  puts  on  canvas  the 
features  that  make  life  worth  the  living  for  him. 

Those  memories  were  very  clear  in  little  Peg's  mind. 

Then  somehow  her  childish  thoughts  all  seemed  to  run 
to  Home  Rule  —  to  love  of  Ireland  and  hatred  of  Eng- 
land —  to  thinking  all  that  was  good  of  Irishmen  and  all 
that  was  bad  of  Englishmen. 

"Why  do  yez  hate  the  English  so  much,  father?  "  she 
asked  O'Connell  once,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  puzzled 
look  in  her  big  blue  eyes,  and  the  most  adorable  brogue 
coming  fresh  from  her  tongue. 

"  Why  do  yez  hate  them?  "  she  repeated. 

"  I've  good  cause  to,  Peg  me  darlin',"  he  answered,  and 
a  deep  frown  gathered  on  his  brow. 

"  Sure  wasn't  me  mother  English?  "  Peg  asked. 

"  She  was." 

"  Then  why  do  yez  hate  the  English?  " 

"  It  'ud  take  a  long  time  to  tell  ye  that,  Peggy.  Some 
day  I  will.  There's  many  a  reason  why  the  Irish  hate 
the  English,  and  many  a  good  reason  too.  But  there's 
one  why  you  and  I  should  hate  them,  and  hate  them  with 
all  the  bittherness  that's  in  us." 

"  And  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Peg  curiously. 

u  111  tell  ye.  When  yer  mother  and  I  were  almost 
starrin',  and  she  lyin'  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  she  wrote  to  an 
Englishman  and  asked  him  to  assist  her.  An'  this  is  the 
reply  she  got :  *  Ye've  made  yer  bed ;  lie  in  it."  That 


102  PEG  0»  MY  HEART 

was  the  answer  she  got  the  day  before  you  were  born,  and 
she  died  givin'  ye  life.  And  by  the  same  token  the  man 
that  wrote  that  shameful  message  to  a  dyin'  woman  was 
her  own  brother." 

"  Her  own  brother,  yer  tellin*  me?  "  asked  Peg  wrath- 
fully. 

"  I  am,  Peg.     Her  own  brother,  I'm  tellin'  ye." 

"  It's  bad  luck  that  man'll  have  all  his  life !  "  said  Peg 
fiercely.  "  To  write  me  mother  that  —  and  she  dyin' ! 
Faith  I'd  like  to  see  him  some  day  —  just  meet  him  — 
and  tell  him  — "  she  stopped,  her  little  fingers  clenched 
into  a  miniature  fist.  The  hot  colour  was  in  her  cheeks 
and  she  stamped  her  small  foot  in  actual  rage.  "  I'd 
like  to  meet  him  some  day,"  she  muttered. 

"  I  hope  ye  never  will,  Peg,"  said  her  father  solemnly. 
"  And,"  he  added,  "  don't  let  us  ever  talk  of  it  again,  me 
darlin'!" 

And  she  never  did.  But  she  often  thought  of  the  inci- 
dent and  the  memory  of  that  brutal  message  was  stamped 
vividly  on  her  little  brain. 

The  greatest  excitements  of  her  young  life  were  going 
with  her  father  to  hear  him  speak.  She  made  the  most 
extraordinary  collection  of  scraps  of  the  speeches  she  had 
heard  her  father  make  for  Home  Rule.  While  he  would 
be  speaking  she  would"  listen  intently,  her  lips  apart,  her 
little  body  tense  with  excitement,  her  little  heart  beating 
like  a  trip-hammer. 

When  they  applauded  him  she  would  laugh  gleefully 
and  clap  her  little  hands  together:  if  they  interrupted 
him  she  would  turn  savagely  upon  them.  She  became 
known  all  over  the  countryside  as  "  O'Connell's  Peg." 

"  Sure  O'Connell's  not  the  same  man  at  all,  at  all,  since 
he  came  back  with  that  little  bit  of  a  red-headed  child," 
said  a  man  to  Father  Cahill  one  day. 


PEG  103 

i 

"  God  is  good,  Flaherty,"  replied  the  priest.  "  He 
sent  O'Connell  a  baby  to  take  him  up  nearer  to  Himself. 
Ye're  right.  He'-s  not  the  same  man.  It's  the  good 
Catholic  he  is  again  as  he  was  as  a  boy.  An'  it's  I'm 
thankful  for  that  same." 

Father  Cahill  smiled  happily.  He  was  much  older, 
but  though  the  figure  was  a  little  bent  and  the  hair 
thinner,  and  the  remainder  of  it  snow-white,  the  same 
sturdy  spirit  was  in  the  old  man. 

"  They're  like  boy  and  girl  together,  that's  what  they 
are,"  said  Flaherty  with  a  tone  of  regret  in  his  voice. 
"  He  seems  as  much  of  a  child  as  she  is  when  he's  with 
her,"  he  added. 

"  Every  good  man  has  somethin'  of  the  child  left  in 
him,  me  son.  O'Connell  was  goin'  in  the  way  of  darkness 
until  a  woman's  hand  guided  him  and  gave  him  that  little 
baby  to  hold  on  to  his  heart  strings." 

"  Sure  Peg's  the  light  o'  his  life,  that's  what  she  is,'* 
grumbled  Flaherty.  "  It's  small  chance  we  ever  have  of 
broken  heads  an'  soldiers  firm'  on  us,  an'  all,  through 
O'Connell,  since  that  child's  laid  hands  on  him."  Fla- 
herty sighed.  "  Them  was  grand  days  and  all,"  he  said. 

"  They  were  wicked  days,  Flaherty,"  said  the  priest 
severely ;  "  and  it's  surprised  I  am  that  a  God-fearin* 
man  like  yerself  should  wish  them  back." 

"  There  are  times  when  I  do,  Father,  the  Lord  forgive 
me.  A  fight  lets  the  bad  blood  out  of  ye.  Sure  it  was  a 
pike  or  a  gun  O'Connell  'ud  shouldher  in  the  ould  days, 
and  no  one  to  say  him  nay,  and  we  all  following  him  like 
the  Colonel  of  a  regiment  —  an'  proud  to  do  it,  too.  But 
now  it's  only  the  soft  words  we  get  from  him." 

"  A  child's  hand  shall  guide,"  said  the  priest.  Then 
he  added : 

"  It  has  guided  him.     Whenever  ye  get  them  wicked 


104  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

thoughts  about  shouldherin'  a  gun  and  flashin'  a  pike, 
come  round  to  confession,  Flaherty,  and  it's  the  good 
penance  I'll  give  ye  to  dhrive  the  devil's  temptation  away 
from  ye." 

"  I  will  that*  Father  Cahill,"  said  Flaherty,  hurriedly, 
and  the  men  went  their  different  ways. 

O'Connell  did  everything  for  Peg  since  she  was  an  in- 
fant. His  were  the  only  hands  to  tend  the  little  body, 
to  wash  her  and  dress  her,  and  tie  up  her  little  shoe-laces, 
and  sit  beside  her  in  her  childish  sicknesses.  He  taught 
her  to  read  and  to  write  and  to  pray.  As  she  grew 
bigger  he  taught  her  the  little  he  knew  of  music  and  the 
great  deal  he  knew  of  poetry.  He  instilled  a  love  of 
verse  into  her  little  mind.  He  never  tired  of  reading  her 
Tom  Moore  and  teaching  her  his  melodies.  He  would 
make  her  learn  them  and  she  would  stand  up  solemnly  and 
recite  or  sing  them,  her  quaint  little  brogue  giving  them 
an  added  music.  O'Connell  and  Peg  were  inseparable. 

One  wonderful  year  came  to  Peg  when  she  was  about 
fourteen. 

O'Connell  had  become  recognised  as  a  masterly  expo- 
nent of  the  particular  form  of  Land  Act  that  would  most 
benefit  Ireland. 

It  was  proposed  that  he  should  lecture  right  through 
the  country,  wherever  they  would  let  him,  and  awaken 
amongst  the  more  violent  Irish,  the  recognition  that  legis- 
lative means  were  surer  of  securing  the  end  in  view,  than 
the  more  violent  ones  of  fifteen  years  before. 

The  brutality  of  the  Coercion  Act  had  been  moderated 
and  already  the  agricultural  and  dairy  produce  of  the 
country  had  developed  so  remarkably  that  the  terrible 
misery  of  by-gone  days,  when  the  potato-crop  would  fail, 
had  been  practically  eliminated,  or  at  least  in  many  dis- 
tricts mitigated. 


PEG  105 

O'Connell  accepted  the  proposition. 

Through  the  country  he  went  speaking  in  every  village 
he  passed  through,  and  sometimes  giving  several  lectures 
in  the  big  cities.  His  mode  of  travelling  was  in  a  cart. 
He  would  speak  from  the  back  of  it,  Peg  sitting  at  his 
feet,  now  watching  him,  again  looking  eagerly  and  in- 
tently at  the  strange  faces  before  her. 

They  were  marvellous  days,  travelling,  sometimes, 
under  a  golden  sun  through  the  glistening  fields :  or  push- 
ing on  at  night  under  a  great  green-and-white  moon. 

Peg  would  sit  beside  her  father  as  he  drove  and  he 
would  tell  her  little  folk-stories,  or  sing  wild  snatches  of 
songs  of  the  days  of  the  Rebellion ;  or  quote  lines  ringing 
with  the  great  Irish  confidence  in  the  triumph  of  Justice : 

"  Lo  the  path  we  tread 

By  our  martyred  dead 
Has  been  trodden  'mid  bane  and  blessing, 

But  unconquered  still 

Is  the  steadfast  will 
And  the  faith  they  died  confessing." 

Or  at  night  he  would  croon  from  Moore : 

' '  When  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love, 
Then  awake  —  the  heaven^  look  bright,  my  dear, 
'Tis  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear, 

And  the  best  of  all  ways 

To  lengthen  our  days 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear !  " 

When  storms  would  come  she  would  cower  down  in  the 
bottom  of  the  cart  and  cry  and  pray.  Storms  terrified 
her.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  anger  of  the  heavens  were 
levelled  at  her.  She  would  cry  and  moan  pitifully  whilst 


106  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

O'Connell  would  try  to  soothe  her  and  tell  her  that  neither 
God  nor  man  would  harm  her  —  no  one  would  touch  his 
"  Peg  o'  my  Heart." 

After  one  of  those  scenes  he  would  sit  and  brood. 
Angela  had  always  been  afraid  of  storms,  and  in  the 
child's  terror  his  beloved  wife  would  rise  up  before  him 
and  the  big  tears  would  drop  silently  down  his  cheeks. 

Peg  crept  out  once  when  the  storm  had  cleared  and  the 
sky  was  bright  with  stars.  Her  father  did  not  hear  her. 
His  thoughts  were  bridging  over  the  years  and  once  more 
Angela  was  beside  him. 

Peg  touched  him  timidly  and  peered  up  into  his  face. 
She  thought  his  cheeks  were  wet.  But  that  could  not  be. 
She  had  never  seen  her  father  cry. 

"  What  are  ye  thinkin'  about,  father  ?  "  she  whispered. 
His  voice  broke.  He  did  not  want  her  to  see  his  emotion. 
He  answered  with  a  half-laugh,  half-sob: 

"  Thinkin'  about,  is  it?  It's  ashamed  I  am  of  ye  to  be 
frightened  by  a  few  little  flashes  of  lightnin'  and  the 
beautiful,  grand  thundher  that  always  kapes  it  company. 
It's  ashamed  I  am.  of  ye  —  that's  what  I  am !  "  He  spoke 
almost  roughly  to  hide  his  emotion  and  he  furtively  wiped 
the  tears  from  his  face  so  that  she  should  not  see  them. 

"  It's  not  the  lightnin'  I'm  afraid  of,  father,"  said  Peg 
solemnly.  "  It's  the  thundher.  It  shrivels  me  up,  that's 
what  it  does." 

"The  thundher,  is  it?  Sure  that's  only  the  bluff  the 
storm  puts  up  when  the  rale  harm  is  done  by  the  light- 
nin's  flash.  There  is  no  harm  in  the  thundher  at  all. 
And  remember,  after  all,  it's  the  will  of  God." 

Peg  thought  a  moment: 

"  It  always  sounds  just  as  if  He  were  lookin'  down  at 
us  and  firm'  off  cannons  at  us  because  He's  angry  with 
us." 


PEG  107 

O'Connell  said  nothing.  Presently  he  felt  her  small 
hand  creep  into  his  : 

"  Father,"  said  Peg ;  "  are  yez  ralely  ashamed  of  me 
when  I'm  frightened  like  that?  " 

O'Connell  was  afraid  to  unbend  lest  he  broke  down 
altogether.  So  he  continued  in  a  voice  of  mock  se- 
verity : 

**  I  am  that  —  when  ye  cry  and  moan  about  what  God 
has  been  good  enough  to  send  us." 

"  Is  it  a  coward  I  am  for  bein'  afraid,  father?  "  said 
Peg,  her  lips  quivering. 

"  That's  what  ye  are,  Peg,"  replied  O'Gonnell  with 
Spartan  severity. 

"  Then  I'll  never  be  one  again,  father !  Never  again," 
and  her  eyes  filled  up. 

He  suddenly  took  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  her  to 
him  and  rocked  her  as  though  she  were  still  a  baby,  and 
his  voice  trembled  and  was  full  of  pity  as  he  said: 

"  Ye  can't  help  it,  acushla.  Ye  can't  help  it.  Ye're 
not  a  coward,  my  own  brave  little  Peg.  It's  yer  mother 
in  ye.  She  could  never  bear  a  thundher-storm  without 
fear,  and  she  was  the  bravest  woman  that  ever  lived. 
Bad  luck  to  me  for  sayin'  a  cross  word  to  ye." 

Suddenly  poor  little  Peg  burst  out  crying  and  buried 
her  face  on  her  father's  breast  and  sobbed  and  sobbed  as 
though  her  heart  would  break. 

"Ssh!  Ssh!  There  —  there,  me  idarlin',"  cried 
O'Connell,  now  thoroughly  alarmed  at  the  depth  of  feel- 
ing the  child  had  loosened  from  her  pent-up  emotion,  "  ye 
mustn't  cry  —  ye  mustn't.  See  it's  laughin'  I  am ! 
Laughin',  that's  what  I'm  doin'." 

And  he  laughed  loudly  while  his  heart  ached,  and  he 
told  her  stories  until  she  forgot  her  tears  and  laughed 
too. 


108  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

i 
And  that  night  as  he  watched  her  fall  off  to  sleep  he 

knelt  down  in  the  straw  and  prayed: 

"  Oh,  kape  her  always  like  she  is  now  —  always  just  a 
sweet,  innocent,  pure  little  creature.  Kape  the  mother 
in  her  always,  dear  Lord,  so  that  she  may  grow  in  Your 
likeness  and  join  my  poor,  dear  Angela  in  the  end. 
Amen." 

Those  were  indeed  glorious  days  for  Peg.  She  never 
forgot  them  in  after  life. 

Waking  in  the  freshness  of  the  early  morning,  making 
their  frugal  breakfast,  feeding  the  faithful  old  horse  and 
then  starting  off  through  the  emerald  green  for  another 
new  and  wonderful  day,  to  spread  the  light  of  the 
"  Cause." 

O'Connell  had  changed  very  much  since  the  days  of  St. 
Kernan's  Hill.  As  was  foreshadowed  earlier,  he  no 
longer  urged  violence.  He  had  come  under  the  influence 
of  the  more  temperate  men  of  the  party,  and  was  content 
to  win  by  legislative  means,  what  Ireland  had  failed  to 
accomplish  wholly  by  conflict.  Although  no  one  recog- 
nised more  thoroughly  than  O'Connell  what  a  large  part 
the  determined  attitude  of  the  Irish  party,  in  resisting  the 
English  laws,  depriving  them  of  the  right  of  free  speech, 
and  of  meeting  to  spread  light  amongst  the  ignorant,  had 
played  in  wringing  some  measure  of  recognition  and  of 
tolerance  from  the  bitter  narrowness  of  the  English  min- 
isters. 

What  changed  O'Connell  more  particularly  was  the 
action  of  a  band  of  so-called  "  Patriots  "  who  operated 
in  many  parts  of  Ireland  —  maiming  cattle,  ruining 
crops,  injuring  peaceable  farmers,  who  did  not  do  their 
bidding  and  shooting  at  landlords  and  prominent  people 
connected  with  the  government. 


PEG  109 

Crime  is  not  a  means  to  honourable  victory  and  O'Con- 
nell  was  ashamed  of  the  miscreants  who  blackened  the  fair 
name  of  his  country  by  their  ruthless  and  despicable 
methods. 

He  avoided  the  possibility  of  imprisonment  again  for 
the  sake  of  Peg.  What  would  befall  her  if  he  were  taken 
from  her? 

The  continual  thought  that  preyed  upon  him  was  that 
he  would  have  nothing  to  leave  her  when  his  call  came. 
Do  what  he  would  he  could  make  but  little  money  —  and 
when  he  had  a  small  surplus  he  would  spend  it  on  Peg  — 
a  shawl  to  keep  her  warm,  or  a  ribbon  to  give  a  gleam  of 
colour  to  the  drab  little  clothes. 

On  great  occasions  he  would  buy  her  a  new  dress,  and 
then  Peg  was  the  proudest  little  child  in  the  whole  of  Ire- 
land. 

Every  year,  on  the  anniversary  of  her  mother's  death, 
O'Connell  had  a  Mass  said  for  the  repose  of  Angela's 
soul,  and  he  would  kneel  beside  Peg  through  the  service, 
and  be  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  One  year  he  had 
candles,  blessed  by  the  Archbishop,  lit  on  our  Lady's  altar 
and  he  stayed  long  after  the  service  was  over.  He  sent 
Peg  home.  But,  although  Peg  obeyed  him,  partially,  by 
leaving  the  church,  she  kept  watch  outside  until  her 
father  came  out.  He  was  wiping  his  eyes  as  he  saw  her. 
He  pretended  to  be  very  angry. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  ye  to  go  home?  " 

"  Ye  did,  father." 

"  Then  why  didn't  ye  obey  me  ?  " 

"  Sure  an'  what  would  I  be  doin'  at  home,  all  alone, 
without  you?  Don't  be  cross  with  me,  father." 

He  took  her  hand  and  they  walked  home  in  silence. 
He  had  been  crying  and  Peg  could  not  understand  it. 
She  had  never  seen  him  do  such  a  thing  before  and  it 


110  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

worried  her.  It  did  not  seem  right  that  a  man  should 
cry.  It  seemed  a  weakness  —  and  that  her  father,  of 
all  men,  should  do  it  —  he  who  was  not  afraid  of  anything 
nor  anyone  —  it  was  wholly  unaccountable  to  her. 

When  they  reached  home  Peg  busied  herself  about  her 
father,  trying  to  make  him  comfortable,  furtively  watch- 
ing him  all  the  while.  When  she  had  put  him  in  an  easy 
chair,  and  brought  him  his  slippers,  and  built  up  the  fire, 
she  sat  down  on  a  little  stool  by  his  side.  After  a  long 
silence  she  stroked  the  back  of  his  hand  and  then  gave 
him  a  little  tug.  He  looked  down  at  her. 

"What  is  it,  Peg?" 

"  Was  my  mother  very  beautiful,  father  ?  " 

"  The  most  beautiful  woman  that  ever  lived  in  all  the 
wurrld,  Peg." 

"  She  looks  beautiful  in  the  picture  ye  have  of  her." 

From  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  he  drew  out  a  little 
beautifully-painted  miniature.  The  frame  had  long 
since  been  worn  and  frayed.  O'Connell  looked  at  the  face 
and  his  eyes  shone: 

"  The  man  that  painted  it  couldn't  put  the  soul  of  her 
into  it.  That  he  couldn't.  Not  the  soul  of  her." 

"Am  I  like  her,  at  all,  father?  "  asked  Peg  wistfully. 

"  Sometimes  ye  are,  dear :  very  like." 

After  a  little  pause  Peg  said : 

"  Ye  loved  her  very  much,  father,  didn't  ye?  " 

He  nodded.  "  I  loved  her  with  all  the  heart  of  me  and 
all  the  strength  of  me." 

Peg  sat  quiet  for  some  minutes :  then  she  asked  him  a 
question  very  quietly  and  hung  in  suspense  on  his  an- 
swer: 

"  Do  ye  love  me  as  much  as  ye  loved  her,  father  ?  " 

"  It's  different,  Peg  —  quite,  quite  different." 

"Why  is  it?"     She  waited. 


PEG  111 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  Sure,  love  is  love  whether  ye  feel  it  for  a  woman  or  a 
child,"  she  persisted. 

O'Connell  remained  silent. 

"Did  ye  love  her  betther  than  ye  love  me,  father?" 
Her  soul  was  in  her  great  blue  eyes  as  she  waited  ex- 
citedly for  the  answer  to  that,  to  her,  momentous  ques- 
tion. 

"Why  do  ye  ask  me  that?"  said  O'Connell. 

"  Because  I  always  feel  a  little  pharp  pain  right 
through  my  heart  whenever  ye  talk  about  me  mother. 
Ye  see,  father,  I've  thought  all  these  years  that  7  was  the 
one  ye  really  loved  — " 

"  Ye're  the  only  one  I  have  in  the  wurrld,  Peg." 

"  And  ye  don't  love  her  memory  betther  than  ye  do 
me?" 

O'Connell  put  both  of  his  arms  around  her. 

"  Yer  mother  is  with  the  Saints,  Peg,  and  here  are  you 
by  me  side.  Sure  there's  room  in  me  heart  for  the 
memory  of  her  and  the  love  of  you." 

She  breathed  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction  and  nestled 
onto  her  father's  shoulder.  The  little  fit  of  childish  jeal- 
ousy of  her  dead  mother's  place  in  her  father's  heart 
passed. 

She  wanted  no  one  to  share  her  father's  affection  with 
her.  She  gave  him  all  of  hers.  She  needed  all  of  his. 

When  Peg  was  eighteen  years  old  and  they  were  living 
in  Dublin,  O'Connell  was  offered  quite  a  good  position  in 
New  York.  It  appealed  to  him.  The  additional  money 
would  make  things  easier  for  Peg.  She  was  almost  a 
woman  now,  and  he  wanted  her  to  get  the  finishing  touches 
of  education  that  would  prepare  her  for  a  position  in  the 
world  if  she  met  the  man  she  felt  she  could  marry. 


112  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Whenever  he  would  speak  of  marriage  Peg  would  laugh 
scornfully : 

"  Who  would  I  be  afther  marryin'  I'd  like  to  know? 
Where  in  the  wurrld  would  I  find  a  man  like  you?  " 

And  no  coaxing  would  make  her  carry  on  the  discus- 
sion or  consider  its  possibility. 

It  still  harassed  him  to  think  he  had  so  little  to  leave 
her  if  anything  happened  to  him.  The  offer  to  go  to 
America  seemed  providential.  Her  mother  was  buried 
there.  He  would  take  Peg  to  her  grave. 

Peg  grew  very  thoughtful  at  the  idea  of  leaving  Ire- 
land. All  her  little  likes  and  dislikes  —  her  impulsive 
affections  and  hot  hatreds  were  all  bound  up  in  that 
country.  She  dreaded  the  prospect  of  meeting  a  number 
of  new  people. 

Still  it  was  for  her  father's  good,  so  she  turned  a  brave 
face  to  it  and  said: 

"  Sure  it  is  the  finest  thing  in  the  wurrld  for  both  of 
us." 

But  the  night  before  they  left  Ireland  she  sat  by  the 
little  window  in  her  bed-room  until  daylight  looking  back 
through  all  the  years  of  her  short  life. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  were  cutting  off  all  that  beautiful 
golden  period.  She  would  never  again  know  the  free, 
careless,  happy-go-lucky,  living-from-day-to-day  exist- 
ence, that  she  had  loved  so  much. 

It  was  a  pale,  wistful,  tired  little  Peg  that  joined  her 
father  at  breakfast  next  morning. 

His  heart  was  heavy,  too.  But  he  laughed  and  joked 
and  sang  and  said  how  glad  they  ought  to  be  —  going  to 
that  wonderful  new  country,  and  by  the  way  the  country 
Peg  was  born  in,  too!  And  then  he  laughed  again  and 
said  how  fine  she  looked  and  how  well  he  felt  and  that  it 
seemed  as  if  it  were  God's  hand  in  it  all. 


PEG  113 

And  Peg  pretended  to  cheer  up,  and  they  acted  their 
parts  right  to  the  end  —  until  the  last  line  of  land  dis- 
appeared and  they  were  headed  for  America.  Then  tney 
separated  and  went  to  their  h'ttle  cabins  to  think  of  all 
that  had  been.  And  every  day  they  kept  up  the  little 
deception  with  each  other  until  they  reached  America. 

They  were  cheerless  days  at  first  for  O'Connell. 
Everything  reminded  him  of  his  first  landing  twenty 
years  before  with  his  young  wife  —  both  so  full  of  hope, 
with  the  future  stretching  out  like  some  wonderful  pano- 
rama before  them.  He  returns  twenty  years  older  to 
begin  the  fight  again  —  this  time  for  his  daughter. 

His  wife  was  buried  at  a  little  Catholic  cemetery  a 
few  miles  outside  New  York  City.  There  he  took  Peg 
one  day  and  they  put  flowers  on  the  h'ttle  mound  of  earth 
and  knelt  awhile  in  prayer.  Beneath  that  earth  lay  not 
only  his  wife's  remains,  but  O'Connell's  early  hopes  and 
ambitions  were  buried  with  her. 

Neither  spoke  either  going  to  or  returning  from  the 
cemetery.  O'Connell's  heart  was  too  full.  Peg  knew 
what  was  passing  through  his  mind  and  sat  with  her 
hands  folded  in  her  lap  —  silent.  But  her  little  brain 
was  busy  thinking  back. 

Peg  had  much  to  think  of  during  the  early  days  follow- 
ing her  arrival  in  New  York.  At  first  the  city  awed  her 
with  its  huge  buildings  and  ceaseless  whirl  of  activity  and 
noise.  She  longed  to  be  back  in  her  own  little  green, 
beautiful  country. 

O'Connell  was  away  during  those  first  days  until  late  at 
night. 

He  found  a  school  for  Peg.  She  did  not  want  to  go  to 
it,  but  just  to  please  her  father  she  agreed.  She  lasted 
in  it  just  one  week.  They  laughed  at  her  brogue  and 
teased  and  tormented  her  for  her  absolute  lack  of  knowl- 


114.  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

edge.  Peg  put  up  with  that  just  as  long  as  she  could. 
Then  one  day  she  opened  out  on  them  and  astonished 
them.  They  could  not  have  been  more  amazed  had  a 
bomb  exploded  in  their  midst.  The  little,  timid-looking, 
open-eyed,  Titian-haired  girl  was  a  veritable  virago.  She 
attacked  and  belittled,  and  mimicked  and  berated  them. 
They  had  talked  of  her  brogue!  They  should  listen  to 
their  own  nasal  utterances,  that  sounded  as  if  they  were 
speaking  with  their  noses  and  not  with  their  tongues ! 
Even  the  teacher  did  not  go  unscathed.  She  came  in  for 
an  onslaught,  too.  That  closed  Peg's  career  as  a  New 
York  student. 

Her  father  arranged  his  work  so  that  he  could  be 
with  her  at  certain  periods  of  the  day,  and  outlined  her 
studies  from  his  own  slender  stock  of  knowledge.  He 
even  hired  a  little  piano  for  her  and  followed  up  what  he 
had  begun  years  before  in  Ireland  —  imbuing  her  with  a 
thorough  acquaintance  with  Moore  and  his  delightful 
melodies. 

One  wonderful  day  they  had  an  addition  to  their  small 
family.  A  little,  wiry-haired,  scrubby,  melancholy  Irish 
terrier  followed  O'Connell  for  miles.  He  tried  to  drive 
him  away.  The  dog  would  turn  and  run  for  a  few 
seconds  and  the  moment  O'Connell  would  take  his  eyes  off 
him  he  would  run  along  and  catch  him  up  and  wag  his 
over-long  tail  and  look  up  at  O'Connell  with  his  sad  eyes. 
The  dog  followed  him  all  the  way  home  and  when  O'Con- 
nell opened  the  door  he  ran  in.  O'Connell  had  not  the 
heart  to  turn  him  out,  so  he  poured  out  some  milk  and 
broke  up  some  dry  biscuits  for  him  and  then  played  with 
him  until  Peg  came  home.  She  liked  the  little  dog  at  once 
and  then  and  there  O'Connell  adopted  him  and  gave  him 
to  Peg.  He  said  the  dog's  face  had  a  look  of  Michael 


PEG  115 

Quinlan,  the  Fenian.  So  "  Michael  "  he  was  named  and 
he  took  his  place  in  the  little  home.  He  became  Peg's 
boon  companion.  They  romped  together  like  children, 
and  they  talked  to  each  other  and  understood  each  other. 
'*  Michael  "  had  an  eloquent  tail,  an  expressive  bark  and 
a  pair  of  eyes  that  told  more  than  speech. 

The  days  flowed  quietly  on,  O'Connell  apparently  satis- 
fied with  his  lot.  But  to  Peg's  sharp  eye  all  was  not  well 
with  him.  There  was  a  settled  melancholy  about  him 
whenever  she  surprised  him  thinking  alone.  She  thought 
he  was  fretting  for  Ireland  and  their  happy  days  to- 
gether and  so  said  nothing. 

He  was  really  worrying  over  Peg's  future.  He  had 
such  a  small  amount  of  money  put  by,  and  working  on  a 
salary  it  would  be  long  before  he  could  save  enough  to 
leave  Peg  sufficient  to  carry  her  on  for  a  while  if  "any- 
thing happened."  There  was  always  that  "  if  anything 
happened !  "  running  in  his  mind. 

One  day  the  chance  of  solving  the  whole  difficulty  of 
Peg's  future  was  placed  in  his  hands.  But  the  means 
were  so  distasteful  to  him  that  he  hesitated  about  even 
telling  her. 

He  came  in  unexpectedly  in  the  early  afternoon  of  that 
iiay  and  found  a  letter  waiting  for  him  with  an  English 
postmark.  Peg  had  eyed  it  curiously  off  and  on  for 
hours.  She  had  turned  it  over  and  over  in  her  fingers 
and  looked  at  the  curious,  angular  writing,  and  felt  a 
little  cold  shiver  run  up  and  down  her  as  she  found  her- 
self wondering  who  could  be  writing  to  her  father  from 
England. 

When  O'Connell  walked  in  and  picked  the  letter  up 
she  watched  him  excitedly.  She  felt,  for  some  strange 
reason,  that  they  were  going  to  reach  a  crisis  in  their 


116  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

lives  when  the  seal  was  broken  and  the  contents  disclosed. 
Superstition  was  strong  in  Peg,  and  all  that  day  she  had 
been  nervous  without  reason,  and  excited  without  cause. 

O'Connell  read  the  letter  through  twice  —  slowly  the 
first  time,  quickly  the  second.  A  look  of  bewilderment 
came  across  his  face  as  he  sat  down  and  stared  at  the 
letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Who  is  it  from,  at  all  ?  "  asked  Peg  very  quietly, 
though  she  was  trembling  all  through  her  body. 

Her  father  said  nothing. 

Presently  he  read  it  through  again. 

"  It's  from  England,  father,  isn't  it  ?  "  queried  Peg, 
pale  as  a  ghost. 

"  Yes,  Peg,"  answered  her  father  and  his  voice  sounded 
hollow  and  spiritless. 

"  I  didn't  know  ye  had  friends  in  England?  "  said  Peg, 
eyeing  the  letter. 

"  I  haven't,"  replied  her  father. 

"  Then  who  is  it  from  ?  "  insisted  Peg,  now  all  im- 
patience and  with  a  strange  fear  tugging  at  her  heart. 

O'Connell  looked  up  at  her  as  she  stood  there  staring 
down  at  him,  her  big  eyes  wide  open  and  her  lips  parted. 
He  took  both  of  her  hands  in  one  of  his  and  held  them  all 
crushed  together  for  what  seemed  to  Peg  to  be  a  long, 
long  while.  She  hardly  breathed.  She  knew  something 
was  going  to  happen  to  them  both. 

At  last  O'Connell  spoke  and  his  voice  trembled  and 
broke : 

"  Peg,  do  ye  remember  one  mornin',  years  and  years 
ago,  when  I  wa*  goin*  to  speak  in  County  Mayo,  an'  we 
started  in  the  cart  at  dawn,  an'  we  thravelled  for  miles  and 
miles  an'  we  came  to  a  great  big  crossing  where  the  roads 
divided  an'  there  was  no  sign  post  an'  we  asked  each  other 


PEG  117 

which  one  we  should  take  an'  we  couldn't  make  up  our 
minds  an'  I  left  it  to  you  an'  ye  picked  a  road  an'  it 
brought  us  out  safe  and  thrue  at  the  spot  we  were  making 
for?  Do  you  remember  it,  Peg?  " 

"  Faith  I  do,  father.  I  remember  it  well.  Ye  called 
me  yer  little  guide  and  said  ye'd  follow  my  road  the  rest 
of  yer  life.  An'  it's  many's  the  laugh  we  had  when  I'd 
take  ye  wrong  sometimes  afterwards."  She  paused. 
"  What  makes  ye  think  of  that  just  now,  father?  " 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  Is  it  on  account  o'  that  letther  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  It  is,  Peg."  He  spoke  with  difficulty  as  if  the  words 
hurt  him  to  speak.  "  We've  got  to  a  great  big  crossin'- 
place  again  where  the  roads  branch  off  an'  I  don't  know 
which  one  to  take." 

"  Are  ye  goin'  to  lave  it  to  me  again,  father  ?  "  said 
Peg. 

"  That's  what  I  can't  make  up  me  mind  about,  dear  — 
for  it  may  be  that  ye'll  go  down  one  road  and  me  down, 
the  other." 

"  No,  father,"  Peg  cried  passionately,  "  that  we  won't. 
Whatever  the  road  we'll  thravel  it  together." 

"  I'll  think  it  out  by  meself,  Peg.  Lave  me  for  a  while 
—  alone.  I  want  to  think  it  out  by  meself  —  alone." 

"  If  it's  separation  ye're  thinkin'  of,  make  up  yer  mind 
to  one  thing  —  that  I'll  never  lave  you.  Never." 

"  Take  *  Michael '  out  for  a  spell  and  come  back  in 
half  an  hour  and  in  the  meanwhile  I'll  bate  it  all  out  in  me 
mind." 

She  bent  down  and  straightened  the  furrows  in  his 
forehead  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and  kissed  him  and 
then  whistled  to  the  wistful  "  Michael  "  and  together  they 
went  running  down  the  street  toward  the  little  patch  of 


118  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

green    where   the   children   played,    and   amongst   whom 
"  Michael "  was  a  prime  favourite. 

Sitting,  his  head  in  his  hands,  his  eyes  staring  into  the 
past,  O'Connell  was  facing  the  second  great  tragedy  of 
his  life. 


CHAPTER  II 

WE   MEET   AN   OLD   FRIEND  AFTER   MANY  YEARS 

WHILE  O'Connell  sat  there  in  that  little  room  in  New 
York  trying  to  decide  Peg's  fate,  a  man,  who  had  played 
some  considerable  part  in  O'Connell's  life,  lay,  in  a  splen- 
didly furnished  room  in  a  mansion  in  the  West  End  of 
London  —  dying. 

Nathaniel  Kingsnorth's  twenty  years  of  loneliness  and 
desolation  were  coming  to  an  end.  What  an  empty,  arid 
stretch  of  time  those  years  seemed  to  him  as  he  feebly 
looked  back  on  them ! 

After  the  tragedy  of  his  sister's  reckless  marriage  he 
deserted  public-life  entirely  and  shut  himself  away  in  his 
country-house  —  except  for  a  few  weeks  in  London  occa- 
sionally when  his  presence  was  required  on  one  or  other 
of  the  Boards  of  which  he  was  a  director. 

The  Irish  estate  —  which  brought  about  all  his  mis- 
fortunes - —  he  disposed  of  at  a  ridiculously  low  figure. 
He  said  he  would  accept  any  bid,  however  small,  so  that 
he  could  sever  all  connection  with  the  hated  village. 

From  the  day  of  Angela's  elopement  he  neither  saw  nor 
wrote  to  any  member  of  his  family. 

His  other  sister,  Mrs.  Chichester,  wrote  to  him  from 
time  to  time  —  telling  him  one  time  of  the  birth  of  a  boy : 
two  years  later  of  the  advent  of  a  girl. 

Kingsnorth  did  not  answer  any  of  her  letters. 

In  no  way  dismayed,  Mrs.  Chichester  continued  to  write 
periodically.  She  wrote  him  when  her  son  Alaric  went 
to  school  and  also  when  he  went  to  college.  Alaric 
seemed  to  absorb  most  of  her  interest.  He  was  evidently 


120  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

her  favourite  child.  She  wrote  more  seldom  of  her  daugh- 
ter Ethel,  and  when  she  did  happen  to  refer  to  her  she 
dwelt  principally  on  her  beauty  and  her  accomplishments. 
Five  years  before,  an  envelope  in  deep  mourning  came  to 
Kingsnorth,  and  on  opening  it  he  found  a  letter  from  his 
sister  acquainting  him  with  the  melancholy  news  that  Mr. 
Chichester  had  ended  a  life  of  usefulness  at  the  English 
bar  and  had  died,  leaving  the  family  quite  comfortably 
off. 

Kingsnorth  telegraphed  his  condolences  and  left  in- 
structions for  a  suitable  wreath  to  be  sent  to  the  funeral. 
But  he  did  not  attend  it.  Nor  did  he  at  any  time  express 
the  slightest  wish  to  see  his  sister  nor  did  he  encourage 
any  suggestion  on  her  part  to  visit  him. 

When  he  was  stricken-  with  an  illness,  from  which  no 
hope  of  recovery  was  held  out  to  him,  he  at  once  began  to 
put  his  affairs  in  order,  and  his  lawyer  spent  days  with 
him  drawing  up  statements  of  his  last  wishes  for  the  dis- 
position of  his  fortune. 

With  death  stretching  out  its  hand  to  snatch  him  from 
a  life  he  had  enjoyed  so  little,  his  thoughts,  coloured  with 
the  fancies  of  a  tired,  sick  brain,  kept  turning  constantly 
to  his  dead  sister  Angela. 

From  time  to  time  down  through  the  years  he  had  a 
softened,  gentle  remembrance  of  her.  When  the  news 
of  her  death  came,  furious  and  unrelenting  as  he  had  been 
toward  her,  her  passing  softened  it.  Had  he  known  in 
time  he  would  have  insisted  on  her  burial  in  the  Kings- 
north  vault.  But  she  had  already  been  interred  in  New 
York  before  the  news  of  her  death  reached  him. 

The  one  bitter  hatred  of  his  life  had  been  against  the 
man  who  had  taken  his  sister  in  marriage  and  in  so  doing 
had  killed  all  possibility  of  Kingsnorth  succeeding  in  his 
political  and  social  aspirations. 


PEG 

He  heard  vaguely  of  a  daughter. 

He  took  no  interest  in  the  news. 

Now,  however,  the  remembrance  of  his  treatment  of 
Angela  burnt  into  him.  He  especially  repented  of  that 
merciless  cable :  "  You  have  made  your  bed ;  lie  in  it."  It 
haunted  him  through  the  long  hours  of  his  slow  and 
painful  illness.  Had  he  helped  her  she  might  have  been 
alive  to-day,  and  those  bitter  reflections  that  ate  into  him 
night  and  day  might  have  been  replaced  by  gentler  ones 
and  so  make  his  end  the  more  peaceful. 

He  thought  of  Angela's  child  and  wondered  if  she  were 
like  his  poor  dead  sister.  The  wish  to  see  the  child  be- 
came an  obsession  with  him. 

One  morning,  after  a  restless,  feverish  night,  he  sent 
for  his  lawyer  and  told  him  to  at  once  institute  inquiries 
—  find  out  if  the  child  was  still  living,  and  if  so  —  where. 

This  his  lawyer  did.  He  located  O'Connell  in  New 
York,  through  a  friend  of  his  in  the  Irish  party,  and 
found  that  the  child  was  living  with  him  in  rather  poor 
circumstances.  He  communicated  the  result  of  his  in- 
quiries to  Kingsnorth.  That  day  a  letter  was  sent  to 
O'Connell  asking  him  to  allow  his  child  to  visit  her  dying 
uncle.  O'Connell  was  to  cable  at  Kingsnorth's  expense 
and  if  he  would  consent  the  money  for  the  expenses  of 
the  journey  would  be  cabled  immediately.  The  girl  was 
to  start  at  once,  as  Mr.  Kingsnorth  had  very  little  longer 
to  live. 

When  the  letter  had  gone  Kingsnorth  drew  a  breath 
of  relief.  He  longed  to  see  the  child.  He  would  have 
to  wait  impatiently  for  the  reply.  Perhaps  the  man 
whom  he  had  hated  all  his  life  would  refuse  his  request. 
If  he  did,  well,  he  would  make  some  provision  in  his  will 
for  her  —  in  memory  of  his  dead  sister. 

The  next  day  he  altered  his  entire  will  and  made  Mar- 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

garet  O'Connell  a  special  legacy.     Ten  days  later  a  cable 
came: 

I  consent  to  my  daughter's  visiting  you. 

FRANK  OWEN  O'CONNELL. 

The  lawyer  cabled  at  once  making  all  arrangements 
through  their  bankers  in  New  York  for  Miss  O'Connell's 
journey. 

That  night  Kingsnorth  slept  without  being  disturbed. 
He  awoke  refreshed  in  the  morning.  It  was  the  first 
kindly  action  he  had  done  for  many  years. 

How  much  had  he  robbed  himself  of  all  his  life,  if  by 
doing  so  little  he  was  repaid  so  much ! 


CHAPTER  HI 

PEG   LEAVES  HER   FATHER   FOR   THE  FIRST   TIME 

O'CONNEI/L  had  a  hard  struggle  with  Peg  before  she 
would  consent  to  leave  him.  She  met  all  his  arguments 
with  counter-arguments.  Nothing  would  move  her  for 
hours. 

"  Why  should  I  go  to  a  man  I  have  never  seen  and  hate 
the  name  of?  " 

"  He's  your  uncle,  Peg." 

"  It's  a  fine  uncle  he's  been  to  me  all  me  life.  And  it 
was  a  grand  way  he  threated  me  mother  when  she  was 
starvin'." 

"  He  wants  to  do  somethin'  for  ye  now,  Peg." 

"  I'll  not  go  to  him." 

"  Now  listen,  dear ;  it's  little  I'll  have  to  lave  ye  when 
I'm  gone,"  pleaded  O'Connell. 

"  I'll  not  listen  to  any  talk  at  all  about  yer  goin'. 
Yer  a  great  strong  healthy  man  —  that's  what  ye  are. 
What  are  ye  talkin'  about?  What's  got  into  yer  head 
about  goin'  ?  " 

"  The  time  must  come,  some  day,  Peg." 

"  All  right,  we'll  know  how  to  face  it  when  it  does. 
But  we're  not  goin'  out  all  the  way  to  meet  it,"  said 
Peg,  resolutely. 

"  It's  very  few  advantages  I've  been  able  to  give  ye,  me 
darlin',"  and  O'Connell  took  up  the  argument  again. 

"  Advantages  or  no  advantages,  what  can  anybody 
be  more  than  be  happy?  Answer  me  that?  An'  sure 
it's  happy  I've  been  with  you.  Now,  why  should  ye 

want  to  dhrive  it  all  away  from  me?" 

123 


PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

To  these  unanswerable  reasons  O'Connell  would  re- 
main silent  for  a  while,  only  to  take  up  the  cudgels  again. 
He  realised  what  it  would  mean  to  Peg  to  go  to  London 
to  have  the  value  of  education  and  of  gentle  surround- 
ings. He  knew  her  heart  was  loyal  to  him:  nothing 
strangers  might  teach  her  would  ever  alter  that.  And 
he  felt  he  owed  it  to  her  to  give  her  this  chance  of  seeing 
the  great  world.  He  would  never  be  able  to  do  it  for 
her.  Much  as  he  hated  the  name  of  Kingsnorth  he  ac- 
knowledged the  fact  that  he  had  made  an  offer  O'Connell 
had  no  real  right  to  refuse. 

He  finally  persuaded  Peg  that  it  was  the  wise  thing: 
the  right  thing:  and  the  thing  he  wished  for  the  most. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  it's  wise  or  right,"  said  poor 
Peg,  beaten  at  last,  "  but  if  you  wish  it  — "  and  she 
broke  off. 

"  I  do  wish  it,  Peg." 

"Ye'll  turn  me  away  from  ye,  eh?  " 

*'  No,  Peg.     Ye'll  come  back  to  me  a  fine  lady." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  anybody  thry  that  with  me.  A  lady, 
indeed!  Ye  love  me  as  I  am.  I  don't  want  to  be  any 
different. 

"  But  ye'll  go?  " 

"  If  ye  say  so." 

"Then  it's  all  settled?" 

"  I  suppose  it  is." 

"  Good,  me  darlin'.  Ye'll  never  regret  it."  O'Con- 
nell  said  this  with  a  cheery  laugh,  though  his  heart  was 
aching  at  the  thought  of  being  separated  from  her. 

Peg  looked  at  him  reproachfully.     Then  she  said: 

"  It's  surprised  I  am  at  ye  turnin'  me  away  from  ye 
to  go  into  a  stuck-up  old  man's  house  that  threated  me 
mother  the  way  he  did." 

And  so  the  discussion  ended. 


PEG  125 

For  the  next  few  days  Peg  was  busy  preparing  herself 
for  the  journey  and  buying  little  things  for  her  scanty 
equipment.  Then  the  cable  came  to  the  effect  that  a 
passage  was  reserved  for  her  and  money  was  waiting 
at  a  banker's  for  her  expenses.  This  Peg  obstinately 
refused  to  touch.  She  didn't  want  anything  except  what 
her  father  gave  her. 

When  the  morning  of  her  departure  came,  poor  Peg 
woke  with  a  heavy  heart.  It  was  their  first  parting,  and 
she  was  miserable. 

O'Connell,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  full  of  life  and 
high  spirits.  He  laughed  at  her  and  joked  with  her  and 
made  a  little  bundle  of  some  tilings  that  would  not  go  in 
her  bag  —  and  that  he  had  kept  for  her  to  the  last  min- 
ute. They  were  a  rosary  that  had  been  his  mother's, 
a  prayer-book  Father  Cahill  gave  him  the  day  he  was 
confirmed,  and  lastly  the  little  miniature  of  Angela.  It 
wrung  his  heart  to  part  with  it,  but  he  wanted  Peg  to 
have  it  near  her,  especially  as  she  was  going  amongst 
the  relations  of  the  dead  woman.  All  through  this 
O'Connell  showed  not  a  trace  of  emotion  before  Peg. 
He  kept  telling  her  there  was  nothing  to  be  sad  about. 
It  was  all  going  to  be  for  her  good. 

When  the  time  came  to  go,  the  strange  pair  made  their 
way  down  to  the  ship  —  the  tall,  erect,  splendid-looking 
man  and  the  little  red-haired  girl  in  her  simple  black 
suit  and  her  little  black  hat,  with  red  flowers  to  brighten 
it. 

O'Connell  went  aboard  with  her,  and  an  odd  couple 
they  looked  on  the  saloon-deck,  with  Peg  holding  on  to 
*'  Michael  "  —  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  passengers, 
the  visitors  and  the  stewards. 

Poor,  staunch,  loyal,  honest,  true  little  Peg,  going 
alone  to  —  what  ?  Leaving  the  one  human  being  she 


126  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

cared  for  and  worshipped  —  her  playmate,  counsellor, 
friend  and  father  —  all  in  one ! 

O'Connell  never  dropped  his  high  spirits  all  the  time 
they  were  together  on  board  the  ship.  He  went  aboard 
with  a  laugh  and  when  the  bell  rang  for  all  visitors  to  go 
ashore  he  said  good-bye  to  Peg  with  a  laugh  —  while 
poor  Peg's  heart  felt  like  a  stone  in  her  breast.  She 
stood  sobbing  up  against  the  rail  of  the  saloon  deck  as 
the  ship  swung  clear.  She  was  looking  for  her  father 
through  the  mists  of  tears  that  blinded  her. 

Just  as  the  boat  slowly  swept  past  the  end  of  the  dock 
she  saw  him  right  at  the  last  post  so  that  he  could  watch 
the  boat  uninterruptedly  until  it  was  out  of  sight.  He 
was  crying  himself  now  —  crying  like  a  child,  and  as  the 
boat  swung  away  he  called  up,  "  My  little  Peg !  Peg  o' 
my  Heart  1 "  How  she  longed  to  get  off  that  ship  and 
go  back  to  him!  They  stood  waving  to  each  other  as 
long  as  they  remained  in  sight. 

While  the  ship  ploughed  her  way  toward  England 
with  little  Peg  on  board,  the  man  whom  she  was  crossing 
the  Atlantic  to  meet  died  quietly  one  morning  with  no 
one  near  him. 

The  nurse  found  Mr.  Kingsnorth  smiling  peacefully 
as  though  asleep.  He  had  been  dead  several  hours. 

Near  him  on  the  table  was  a  cable  despatch  from  New 
York: 

My  daughter  sailed  on  the  Mauretania  to-day  at  ten 
o'clock. 

FRANK  OWEN  O'CONNELL. 


BOOK  IV 

t 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  CHICHESTEB,  FAMILY 

MRS.  CHICHESTER  —  whom  we  last  saw  under  ex- 
tremely distressing  circumstances  in  Ireland  —  now  en- 
ters prominently  into  the  story.  She  was  leading  a  se- 
cluded and  charming  existence  in  an  old  and  picturesque 
villa  at  Scarboro,  in  the  north  of  England.  Although 
her  husband  had  been  dead  for  several  years,  she  still 
clung  to  the  outward  symbols  of  mourning.  It  added 
a  softness  to  the  patrician  line  of  her  features  and  a 
touch  of  distinction  to  her  manner  and  poise.  She  had 
an  illustrious  example  of  a  life-long  sorrow,  and,  being 
ever  loyal,  Mrs.  Chichester  retained  the  weeds  of  wid- 
owhood and  the  crepe  of  affliction  ever  present. 

She  was  proud  indeed  of  her  two  children  —  about 
whom  she  had  written  so  glowingly  to  her  brother  Na- 
thaniel. 

Alaric  was  the  elder.  In  him  Mrs.  Chichester  took 
the  greater  pride.  He  was  so  nearly  being  great  — 
even  from  infancy  —  that  he  continually  kept  his  mother 
in  a  condition  of  expectant  wonder.  He  was  nearly 
brilliant  at  school:  at  college  he  almost  got  his  degree. 
He  just  missed  his  "  blue  "  at  cricket,  and  but  for  an 
unfortunate  ball  dribbling  over  the  net  at  a  critical  mo- 
ment in  the  semi-final  of  the  tennis  championships,  he 
might  have  won  the  cup.  He  was  quite  philosophic  about 
it,  though,  and  never  appeared  to  reproach  fate  for 
treating  him  so  shabbily. 

He   was    always    nearly   doing   something,    and   kept 

Mrs.  Chichester  in  a  lively  condition  of  trusting  hope 

129 


130  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

and  occasional  disappointment.  She  knew  he  would  "  ar- 
rive "  some  day  —  come  into  his  own :  then  all  these  half- 
rewarded  efforts  would  be  invaluable  in  the  building  of 
his  character. 

Her  daughter,  Ethel,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the 
exact  antithesis  to  Alaric.  She  had  never  shown  the 
slightest  interest  in  anything  since  she  had  first  looked 
up  at  the  man  of  medicine  who  ushered  her  into  the  world. 
She  regarded  everything  about  her  with  the  greatest 
complacency.  She  was  never  surprised  or  angry,  or 
pleased,  or  depressed.  Sorrow  never  seemed  to  affect 
her  —  nor  joy  make  her  smile.  She  looked  on  life  as  a 
gentle  brook  down  whose  current  she  was  perfectly  con- 
tent to  drift  undisturbed.  At  least,  that  was  the  effect 
created  in  Mrs.  Chichester's  mind.  She  never  thought 
it  possible  there  might  be  latent  possibilities  in  her  im- 
passive daughter. 

While  her  mother  admired  Ethel's  lofty  attitude  of  in- 
difference toward  the  world  —  a  manner  that  bespoke 
the  aristocrat  —  she  secretly  chafed  at  her  daughter's 
lack  of  enthusiasm. 

How  different  to  Alaric  —  always  full  of  nearly  new 
ideas:  always  about  to  do  something.  Alaric  kept  those 
around  him  on  the  alert  —  no  one  ever  really  knew  what 
he  would  do  next.  On  the  other  hand,  Ethel  depressed 
by  her  stolid  content  with  everything  about  her.  Ev- 
ery one  knew  what  she  would  do  —  or  thought  they  did. 

Mrs.  Chichester  had  long  since  abandoned  any  further 
attempt  to  interest  her  brother  Nathaniel  in  the  children. 

Angela's  wretched  marriage  had  upset  everything, — 
driven  Nathaniel  to  be  a  recluse  and  to  close  his  doors 
on  near  and  distant  relatives. 

Angela's  death  the  following  year  did  not  relieve  the 
situation.  If  anything,  it  intensified  it,  since  she  left  a 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  131 

baby  that,  naturally,  none  of  the  family  could  possibly 
take  the  slightest  notice  of  —  nor  interest  in. 

It  was  tacitly  agreed  never  to  speak  of  the  unfortu- 
nate incident,  especially  before  the  children.  It  was 
such  a  terrible  example  for  Ethel,  and  so  discouraging 
to  the  eager  and  ambitious  Alaric. 

Consequently  Angela's  name  was  never  spoken  inside 
of  Regal  Villa. 

And  so  the  Chichester  family  pursued  an  even  course, 
only  varied  by  Alaric's  sudden  and  definite  decisions  to 
enter  either  public  life,  or  athletics,  or  the  army,  or  the 
world  of  art  —  it  was  really  extremely  hard  for  so  well- 
equipped  a  young  man  to  decide  to  limit  himself  to  any 
one  particular  pursuit.  Consequently  he  put  off  the 
final  choice  from  day  to  day. 

Suddenly  a  most  untoward  incident  happened. 

Alaric,  returning  from  a  long  walk,  alone  —  during 
which  he  had  almost  decided  to  become  a  doctor  — 
walked  in  through  the  windows  from  the  garden  into  the 
living-room  and  found  his  mother  in  tears,  an  open  let- 
ter in  her  hand. 

This  was  most  unusual.  Mrs.  Chichester  was  not 
wont  to  give  vent  to  open  emotion.  It  shows  a  lack 
of  breeding.  So  she  always  suppressed  it.  It  seemed 
to  grow  inwards.  To  find  her  weeping  —  and  almost 
audibly  —  impressed  Alaric  that  something  of  more  than 
usual  importance  had  occurred. 

"  Hello,  Mater !  "  he  cried  cheerfully,  though  his  looks 
belied  the  buoyancy  of  his  tone.  "  Hullo !  what's  the 
matter?  What's  up?" 

At  the  same  moment  Ethel  came  in  through  the  door. 

It  was  11 :30,  and  at  precisely  that  time  every  morn- 
ing Ethel  practised  for  half  an  hour  on  the  piano.  Not 
that  she  had  the  slightest  interest  in  music,  but  it  helped 


the  morning  so  much.  She  would  look  forward  to  it  for 
an  hour  before,  and  think  of  it  for  an  hour  afterwards  — 
and  then  it  was  lunch-time.  It  practically  filled  out  the 
entire  morning. 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  up  as  her  beloved  children  came 
toward  her  —  and  real  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  a  real 
note  of  alarm  was  in  her  voice: 

"  Oh  Ethel !     Oh  Alaric  !  " 

Alaric  was  at  her  side  in  a  moment.  He  was  genu- 
inely alarmed. 

Ethel  moved  slowly  across,  thinking,  vaguely,  that 
something  must  have  disagreed  with  her  mother. 

"What  **   it,   mater?"   cried  Alaric. 

"  Mother ! "  said  Ethel,  with  as  nearly  a  tone  of  emo- 
tion as  she  could  feel. 

"  We're  ruined !  "  sobbed  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  the  bewildered  son. 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  the  placid  daughter. 

"  Our  bank  has  failed !  Every  penny  your  poor  fa- 
ther left  me  was  in  it,"  wailed  Mrs.  Chichester.  "  We've 
nothing.  Nothing.  We're  beggars." 

A  horrible  fear  for  a  moment  gripped  Alaric  —  the 
dread  of  poverty.  He  shivered !  Suppose  such  a  thing 
should  really  happen?  Then  he  dismissed  it  with  a- 
shrug  of  his  shoulders.  How  perfectly  absurd!  Pov- 
erty, indeed!  The  Chichesters  beggars?  Such  non- 
sense! He  turned  to  his  mother  and  found  her  holding 
out  a  letter  and  a  newspaper.  He  took  them  both  and 
read  them  with  mingled  amazement  and  disgust.  First 
the  headline  of  the  newspaper  caught  his  eye: 

"  Failure  of  Gifford's  Bank." 

Then  he  looked  at  the  letter: 

"  Gifford's  Bank  suspended  business  yesterday !  '* 
Back  his  eye  travelled  to  the  paper : 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  133 

"  Gifford's  Bank  has  closed  its  doors !  "  He  was  quite 
unable,  at  first,  to  grasp  the  full  significance  of  the  con- 
tents of  that  letter  and  newspaper.  He  turned  to  Ethel : 

"  Eh?  "  he  gasped. 

"  Pity,"  she  murmured,  trying  to  find  a  particular 
piece  of  music  amongst  the  mass  on  the  piano. 

"  We're  ruined !  "  reiterated  Mrs.  Chichester. 

Then  the  real  meaning  of  those  cryptic  headlines  and 
the  business-like  letter  broke  in  on  Alaric.  All  the  Chi- 
chester blood  was  roused  in  him. 

"  Now  that's  what  I  call  a  downright,  rotten,  black- 
guardly shame  —  a  blackguardly  shame!  "  His  voice 
rose  in  tones  as  it  increased  in  intensity  until  it  almost 
reached  a  shriek. 

Something  was  expected  of  him.  At  any  rate  indig- 
nation. Well,  he  was  certainly  indignant. 

"  Closed  its  doors,  indeed ! "  he  went  on.  "  Why 
should  it  close  its  doors?  That's  what  I  want  to  know! 
Why  —  should  —  it  ?  "  and  he  glared  at  the  unoffending 
letter  and  the  non-committal  newspaper. 

He  looked  at  Ethel,  who  was  surreptitiously  conceal- 
ing a  yawn,  and  was  apparently  quite  undisturbed  by 
the  appalling  news. 

He  found  no  inspiration  there. 

Back  he  went  to  his  mother  for  support. 

"What  right  have  banks  to  fail?  There  should  be  a 
law  against  it.  They  should  be  made  to  open  their  doors 
and  keep  'em  open.  That's  what  we  give  'em  our  money 
for  —  so  that  we  can  take  it  out  again  when  we  want  it." 

Poor  Mrs.  Chichester  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  Everything  gone,"  she  moaned.  "  Ruined !  and  at 
my  age !  " 

"  Nice  kettle  of  fish,"  was  all  Alaric  could  think  of. 
He  was  momentarily  stunned.  He  turned  once  more  to 


134.  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Ethel.  He  never  relied  on  her  very  much,  but  at  this 
particular  crisis  he  would  like  to  have  some  expression 
of  opinion,  however  slight  —  from  her. 

"  I  say,  Ethel,  it's  a  nice  kettle  of  fish  all  a-boilin', 
eh?" 

"  Shame ! "  she  said  quietly,  as  she  found  the  particu- 
lar movement  of  Grieg  she  had  been  looking  for.  She 
loved  Grieg.  He  fitted  into  all  her  moods.  She  played 
everything  he  composed  exactly  the  same.  She  seemed 
to  think  it  soothed  her.  She  would  play  some  now  and 
soothe  her  mother  and  Alaric. 

She  began  an  impassioned  movement  which  she  played 
evenly  and  correctly,  and  without  any  unseemly  force. 

Alaric  cried  out  distractedly :  "  For  goodness'  sake 
stop  that,  Ethel !  Haven't  you  got  any  feelings  ?  Can't 
you  see  how  upset  the  mater  is?  And  I  am?  Stop  it. 
There's  a  dear !  Let's  put  our  backs  into  this  thing  and 
thrash  it  all  out.  Have  a  little  family  meetin',  as  it 
were." 

Poor  Mrs.  Chichester  repeated,  as  though  it  were  some 
refrain :  "  Ruined !  At  my  age !  " 

Alaric  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  chair  and  put  his  arm 
around  her  shoulder  and  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  mater,"  he  said.  "  Don't  worry. 
I'll  go  down  and  tell  'em  what  I  think  of  'em  —  exactly 
what  I  think  of  'em.  They  can't  play  the  fool  with  me. 
I  should  think  not,  indeed.  Listen,  mater.  You've  got 
a  son,  thank  God,  and  one  no  bank  can  take  any  liberties 
with.  What  we  put  in  there  we've  got  to  have  out. 
That's  all  I  can  say.  We've  simply  got  to  have  it  out. 
There!  I've  said  it!" 

Alaric  rose,  and  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  five  feet 
six  inches  of  manhood  glared  malignantly  at  some  imag- 
inary bank  officials.  His  whole  nature  was  roused. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  185 

The  future  of  the  family  depended  on  him.  They  would 
not  depend  in  vain.  He  looked  at  Ethel,  who  was  trying 
to  make  the  best  of  the  business  by  smiling  agreeably 
on  them  both. 

"  It's  bankrupt !  "  wailed  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Failed !  "  suggested  Ethel,  cheerfully. 

"  We're  beggars,"  continued  the  mother.  "  I  must 
live  on  charity  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  The  guest  of  re- 
lations I've  hated  the  sight  of  and  who  have  hated  me. 
It's  dreadful!  Dreadful!" 

All  Alaric's  first  glow  of  manly  enthusiasm  began  to 
cool. 

"  Don't  you  think  we'll  get  anything?  "  By  accident 
he  turned  to  Ethel.  She  smiled  meaninglessly  and  said 
for  the  first  time  with  any  real  note  of  conviction: 

"Nothing!" 

Alaric  sat  down  gloomily  beside  his  mother. 

"  I  always  thought  bank  directors  were  blighters. 
Good  Lord,  what  a  mess ! "  He  looked  the  picture  of 
misery.  "What's  to  become  of  Ethel,  mater?  " 

"  Whoever  shelters  me  must  shelter  Ethel  as  well,"  re- 
plied the  mother  sadly.  "  But  it's  hard  —  at  my  age  — • 
to  be  —  sheltered" 

Alaric  looked  at  Ethel,  and  a  feeling  of  pity  came 
over  him.  It  was  distinctly  to  his  credit  —  since  his 
own  wrongs  occupied  most  of  his  attention.  But  after 
all  he  could  buffet  the  world  and  wring  a  living  out  of  it. 
All  he  had  to  do  was  to  make  up  his  mind  which  walk  in 
life  to  choose.  He  was  fortunate. 

But  Ethel,  reared  from  infancy  in  the  environment  of 
independence:  it  would  come  very  hard  and  bitter  on 
her. 

Alaric  just  touched  Ethel's  hand,  and  with  as  much 
feeling  as  he  could  muster,  he  said: 


136  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Shockin'  tough,  old  girl." 

Ethel  shook  her  head  almost  determinedly  and  said, 
somewhat  enigmatically,  and  for  her,  heatedly : 

"  No!  " 

"  No ?  "  asked  Alaric.     "  No  —  what?  " 

"  Charity !  "  said  Ethel. 

"  Cold-blooded  word,"  and  Alaric  shuddered.  "  What 
will  you  do,  Ethel?  " 

"  Work." 

"At  what?" 

"  Teach." 

"Teach?     Who  in  the  wide  world  can  you  teach?" 

"  Children." 

Alaric  laughed  mirthlessly.  "  Oh,  come,  that's  rich ! 
Eh,  mater?  Fancy  Ethel  teachin'  grubby  little  brats 
their  A  B  C's !  Tush !  " 

"  Must !  "  said  Ethel,  quite  unmoved. 

"  A  Chichester  teach?  "  said  Alaric,  in  disgust. 

"  Settled ! "  from  Ethel,  and  she  swept  her  fingers 
slowly  across  the  piano. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Alaric,  determinedly :  "  I'll  work, 
too." 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  up  pleadingly. 

Alaric  went  on :  "  I'll  put  my  hand  to  the  plough. 
The  more  I  think  of  it  the  keener  I  am  to  begin.  From 
to-day  I'll  be  a  workin'  man." 

At  this  Ethel  laughed  a  queer,  little,  odd,  supercilious 
note,  summed  up  in  a  single  word :  "  Ha  !  "  There  was 
nothing  mirthful  in  it.  There  was  no  reproach  in  it. 
It  was  just  an  expression  of  her  honest  feeling  at  the 
bare  suggestion  of  her  brother  working. 

Alaric  turned  quickly  to  her: 

"  And  may  I  ask  why  that  '  Ha ! '?     Why,  I  ask  you? 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  137 

There's  nothing  I  couldn't  do  if  I  were  really  put  to  it 
—  not  a  single  thing.  Is  there,  mater  ?  " 

His  mother  looked  up  proudly  at  him. 

"  I  know  that,  dear.  But  it's  dreadful  to  think  of 
you  —  working." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Alaric,  "  I'm  just  tingling  all  over 
at  the  thought  of  it.  The  only  reason  I  haven't  so  far 
is  because  I've  never  had  to.  But  now  that  I  have,  I'll 
just  buckle  on  my  armour,  so  to  speak,  and  astonish  you 
all." 

Again  came  that  deadly,  cold,  unsympathetic  "  Ha ! " 
from  Ethel. 

"  Please  don't  laugh  in  that  cheerless  way,  Ethel.  It 
goes  all  down  my  spine.  Jerry's  always  tellin'  me  I 
ought  to  do  something —  that  the  world  is  for  the 
worker  —  and  all  that.  He's  right,  and  I'm  goin'  to 
show  him."  He  suddenly  picked  up  the  paper  and  looked 
at  the  date.  "  What's  to-day  ?  The  first?  Yes,  so  it 
is.  June  the  first.  Jerry's  comin'  to-day  —  all  his 
family,  too.  They've  taken  *  Noel's  Folly  '  on  the  hill. 
He's  sure  to  look  in  here.  Couldn't  be  better.  He's 
the  cove  to  turn  to  in  a  case  like  this." 

Jarvis,  a  white-haired,  dignified  butler  who  had  served 
the  family  man  and  boy,  came  in  at  this  juncture  with  a 
visiting  card  on  a  salver. 

Alaric  picked  it  up  and  glanced  at  it.  He  gave  an  ex- 
pression of  disgust  and  flung  the  card  back  on  the  salver. 

"  Christian  Brent." 

For  the  first  time  Ethel  showed  more  than  a  passing 
gleam  of  interest.  She  stopped  strumming  the  piano 
and  stood  up,  very  erect  and  very  still. 

Mrs.  Chichester  rose  too :  "  I  can't  see  any  one,"  she 
said  imperatively. 


188  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

"  Nor  I,"  added  Alaric.  "  I'm  all  strung  up."  He 
turned  to  Jarvis.  "  Tell  Mr.  Brent  we're  very  sorry, 
but  — " 

"  I'll  see  him,"  interrupted  Ethel,  almost  animatedly. 
"  Bring  Mr.  Brent  here,  Jarvis." 

As  Jarvis  went  in  search  of  Mr.  Brent,  Mrs.  Chiches- 
ter  went  up  the  great  stairs :  "  My  head  is  throbbing. 
I'll  go  to  my  room." 

"  Don't  you  worry,  mater,"  consoled  Alaric.  "  Leave 
everything  to  me.  I'll  thrash  the  whole  thing  out  — 
absolutely  thrash  it  out." 

As  Mrs.  Chichester  disappeared,  Alaric  turned  to  his 
calm  sister,  who,  strangely  enough,  was  showing  some 
signs  of  life  and  interest. 

"Awful  business,  Ethel,  eh?  " 

"  Pretty  bad." 

"Really  goin'  to  teach?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Right !  I'll  find  somethin',  too.  Very  likely  a  doc- 
tor. We'll  pull  through  somehow." 

Ethel  made  a  motion  toward  the  door  as  though  to 
stop  any  further  conversation. 

"  Mr.  Brent's  coming,"  she  said,  almost  impatiently. 

Alaric  started  for  the  windows  leading  into  the  gar- 
den. 

"  Jolly  good  of  you  to  let  him  bore  you.  I  hate  the 
sight  of  the  beggar,  myself.  Always  looks  to  me  like 
the  first  conspirator  at  a  play." 

The  door  opened,  and  Jarvis  entered  and  ushered  in 
"  Mr.  Brent."  Alaric  hurried  into  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  II 

CHRISTIAN    BRENT 

A  FEW  words  of  description  of  Christian  Brent  might 
be  of  interest,  since  he  represents  a  type  that  society  al- 
ways has  with  it. 

They  begin  by  deceiving  others :  they  end  by  deceiv- 
ing thenaselvee. 

Christian  Brent  was  a  dark,  tense,  eager,  scholarly- 
looking  man  of  twenty-eight  years  of  age.  His  career 
as  a  diplomatist  was  halted  at  its  outset  by  an  early 
marriage  with  the  only  daughter  of  a  prosperous  manu- 
facturer. Brent  was  moderately  independent  in  his  own 
right,  but  the  addition  of  his  wife's  dowry  seemed  to  de- 
stroy all  ambition.  He  no  longer  found  interest  in  car- 
rying messages  to  the  various  legations  or  embassies  of 
Europe,  or  in  filling  a  routine  position  as  some  one's  sec- 
retary. From  being  an  intensely  eager  man  of  affairs 
he  drifted  into  a  social  lounger  —  the  lapdog  of  the 
drawing-room  —  where  the  close  breath  of  some  rare  per- 
fume meant  more  than  the  clash  of  interests,  and  the  con- 
quest of  a  woman  greater  than  that  of  a  nation.  . 

Just  at  this  period  Ethel  Chichester  was  the  especial 
object  of  his  adoration. 

Her  beauty  appealed  to  him. 

Her  absolute  indifference  to  him  stung  him  as  a  lash. 
It  seemed  to  belittle  his  powers  of  attraction.  Conse- 
quently he  redoubled  his  efforts. 

Ethel  showed  neither  like  nor  dislike  —  just  a  form  of 
toleration.  Brent  accepted  this  as  a  dog  a  crumb,  in 
the  hope  of  something  more  substantial  to  follow.  He 

139 


140  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

had  come  that  morning  with  a  fixed  resolve.  His  man- 
ner was  determined.  His  voice  wooed  as  a  caress.  He 
went  tenderly  to  Ethel  the  moment  the  door  closed  on 
Jarvis. 

"How  are  you?"  he  asked,  and  there  was  a  note  of 
subdued  passion  in  his  tone. 

"  Fair,"  replied  Ethel,  without  even  looking  at  him. 

"  Where  is  your  mother?  "  suggesting  that  much  de- 
pended on  the  answer. 

"  Lying  down,"  answered  Ethel,  truthfully  and  with- 
out any  feeling. 

"And  Alaric?" 

"  In  the  garden." 

"Then  we  have  a  moment  or  two  —  alone?"  Brent 
put  a  world  of  meaning  into  the  suggestion. 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Ethel,  picking  up  a  score  of 
Boheme  and  looking  at  it  as  if  she  saw  it  for  the  first 
time:  all  the  while  watching  him  through  her  half-closed 
«yes. 

Brent  went  to  her.     "  Glad  io  see  me?  "  he  asked. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you."  He  bent  over  her.  "  More 
than  glad." 

"Really?" 

He  sat  beside  her :  "  Ethel,"  he  whispered  intensely : 
"  I  am  at  the  Cross-roads." 

"  Oh?  "  commented  Ethel,  without   any  interest. 

"  It  came  last  night." 

"Did  it?" 

"  This  is  the  end  —  between  Sybil  and  myself." 

"Is  it?" 

"  Yes  —  the  end.  It's  been  horrible  from  the  first  — 
horrible.  There's  not  a  word  of  mine  —  not  an  action 
—  she  doesn't  misunderstand." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  14*1 

"  How  boring,"  said  Ethel  blandly. 

"  She  would  see  harm  even  in  this!  " 

"Why?" 

"  She'd  think  I  was  here  to  —  to  — "  he  stopped. 

"  What?  "  innocently  inquired  Ethel. 

"  Make  love  to  you,"  and  he  looked  earnestly  into  her 
eyes. 

She  met  his  look  quite  frankly  and  astonished  him 
with  the  question:  "Well?  Aren't  you?" 

He  rose  anxiously :     "  Ethel !  " 

"  Don't  you  always  ?  "  persisted  Ethel. 

"  Has  it  seemed  like  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  candidly.  "  By  insinuation : 
never  straightforwardly." 

"Has  it  offended  you?" 

"Then  you  admit  it?" 

"  Oh,"  he  cried  passionately,  "  I  wish  I  had  the  right 
to  —  to  — "  again  he  wavered. 

"  Yes  ?  "  and  Ethel  looked  straight  at  him. 

"  Make  love  to  you  straightforwardly."  He  felt  the 
supreme  moment  had  almost  arrived.  Now,  he  thought, 
he  would  be  rewarded  for  the  long  waiting;  the  endless 
siege  to  this  marvellous  woman  who  concealed  her  real 
nature  beneath  that  marble  casing  of  an  assumed  in- 
difference. 

He  waited  eagerly  for  her  answer.  When  it  came  it 
shocked  and  revolted  him. 

Ethel  dropped  her  gaze  from  his  face  and  said, 
with  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  playing  around  her 
lips: 

"  If  you  had  the  right  to  make  love  to  me  straightfor- 
wardly —  you  wouldn't  do  it." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  gasped. 


142  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  It's  only  because  you  haven't  the  right  that  you  do 
it  —  by  suggestion,"  Ethel  pursued. 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?  "  And  he  put  all  the  heart 
he  was  capable  of  into  the  question. 

"  You  don't  deny  it,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  breathed  hard  and  then  said  bitterly: 

"  What  a  contemptible  opinion  you  must  have  of 
me." 

"  Then  we're  quits,  aren't  we?  " 

"  How?  "  he  asked. 

"  Haven't  you  one  of  me?  " 

"  Of  you?     Why,  Ethel  — " 

"  Surely  every  married  man  must  have  a  contemptible 
opinion  of  the  woman  he  covertly  makes  love  to.  If  he 
hadn't  he  couldn't  do  it,  could  he?  "•  Once  again  she  lev- 
elled her  cold,  impassive  eyes  on  Brent's  flushed  face. 

"  I  don't  follow  you,"  was  all  Brent  said. 

"  Haven't  you  had  time  to  think  of  an  answer?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  driving  at,"  he  added. 

Ethel  smiled  her  most  enigmatical  smile: 

"No?  I  think  you  do."  She  waited  a  moment. 
Brent  said  nothing.  This  was  a  new  mood  of  Ethel's. 
It  baffled  him. 

Presently  she  relieved  the  silence  by  asking  him : 

"  What  happened  last  night  ?  " 

He  hesitated.     Then  he  answered: 

"  I'd  rather  not  say.  I'd  sound  like  a  cad  blaming  a 
woman." 

"  Never  mind  how  it  sounds.  Tell  it.  It  must  have 
been  amusing." 

"Amusing?  Good  God!"  He  bent  over  her  again. 
"  Oh,  the  more  I  look  at  you  and  listen  te  you,  the  more 
I  realise  I  should  never  have  married." 

"  Why  did  you  ?  "  came  the  cool  question. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  14«3 

Brent  answered  with  all  the  power  at  his  command. 
Here  was  the  moment  to  lay  his  heart  bare  that  Ethel 
might  see. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  young  hare,  fresh  from  its 
kind,  run  headlong  into  a  snare?  Have  you  ever  seen  a 
young  man  free  of  the  trammels  of  college,  dash  into  a 
net?  I  did!  I  wasn't  trap-wise!  " 

He  paced  the  room  restlessly,  all  the  self-pity  rising 
in  him.  He  went  on: 

"  Good  God !  what  nurslings  we  are  when  we  first  feel 
our  feet!  We're  like  children  just  loose  from  the  lead- 
ing-strings. Anything  that  glitters  catches  us.  Every 
trap  that  is  set  for  our  unwary  feet  we  drop  into.  I 
did.  Dropped  in.  Caught  hand  and  foot  —  mind  and 
soul." 

"  Soul?  "  queried  Ethel,  with  a  note  of  doubt. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  Don't  you  mean  body?  "  she  suggested. 

"  Body,  mind  and  soul !  "  he  said,  with  an  air  of  finality. 

"  Well,  body  anyway,"  summed  up  Ethel. 

"And  for  what?"  he  went  on.  "For  what?  Love! 
Companionship !  That  is  what  we  build  on  in  marriage. 
And  what  did  7  realise?  Hate  and  wrangling!  Wran- 
gling—  just  as  the  common  herd,  with  no  advantages, 
wrangle,  and  make  it  a  part  of  their  lives  —  the  zest  to 
their  union.  It's  been  my  curse." 

"  Why  wrangling?  "  drawled  Ethel. 

"  She  didn't  understand." 

"  You?  "  asked  Ethel,  in  surprise. 

"  My  thoughts !     My  actions !  " 

"  How  curious." 

"  You  mean  you  would  ?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it."     He  tried  to  take  her  hand.      She 


144  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

drew  it  away,  and  settled  herself  comfortably  to  listen 
again : 

"  Tell  me  more  about  your  wife." 

"  The  slightest  attention  shown  to  any  other  woman 
meant  a  ridiculous  • —  a  humiliating  scene." 

"  Humiliating?  " 

"  Isn't  doubt  and  suspicion  humiliating  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  a  compliment  in  some  cases." 

"How?" 

"  It  would  put  a  fictitious  value  on  some  men." 

"  You  couldn't  humiliate  in  that  way,"  he  ventured, 
slowly. 

"  No.  I  don't  think  I  could.  If  a  man  showed  a 
preference  for  any  other  woman  she  would  be  quite  wel- 
come to  him." 

"  No  man  could ! "  said  Brent,  insinuatingly. 

She  looked  at  him  coldly  a  moment. 

"Let  me  see  —  where  were  you?  Just  married, 
weren't  you?  Go  on." 

"  Then  came  the  baby !  "  He  said  that  with  a  signifi- 
cant meaning  and  paused  to  see  the  effect  on  Ethel.  If 
it  had  any,  Ethel  effectually  concealed  it.  Her  only 
comment  was: 

"Ah!" 

Brent  went  on: 

"  One  would  think  that  would  change  things.  But 
no.  Neither  of  us  wanted  her.  Neither  of  us  love  her. 
Children  should  come  of  love  —  not  hate.  And  she  is 
a  child  of  hate."  He  paused,  looking  intently  at  Ethel. 
She  looked  understandingly  at  him,  then  dropped  her 
eyes. 

Brent  went  on  as  if  following  up  an  advantage :  "  She 
sits  in  her  little  chair,  her  small,  wrinkled,  old  disillu- 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  145 

sioned  face  turned  to  us,  with  the  eyes  watching  us  ac- 
cusingly. She  submits  to  caresses  as  though  they  were 
distasteful:  as  if  she  knew  they  were  lies.  At  times  she 
pushes  the  nearing  face  away  with  her  little  baby  fin- 
gers." He  stopped,  watching  her  eagerly.  Her  eyes 
were  down. 

"  I  shouldn't  tell  you  this.  It's  terrible.  I  see  it  in 
your  face.  What  are  you  thinking?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  replied  Ethel  simply. 

"Forme?" 

"  For  your  wife." 

"  My  wife?  "  he  repeated,  aghast. 

"Yes,"  said  Ethel.  "Aren't  you?  No?  Are  you 
just  sorry  for  yourself?  " 

Brent  turned  impatiently  away.  So  this  laying-open 
the  wound  in  his  life  was  nothing  to  Ethel.  Instead  of 
pity  for  him  all  it  engendered  in  her  was  sorrow  for  his 
wife. 

How  little  women  understood  him. 

There  was  a  pathetic  catch  in  his  voice  as  he  turned 
to  Ethel  and  said  reproachfully : 

"You  think  me  purely  selfish?" 

"  Naturally,"  she  answered  quickly.  '*  I  am.  Why 
not  be  truthful  about  ourselves  sometimes?  Eh?  " 

"  We  quarrelled  last  night  —  about  you !  "  he  said, 
desperately. 

"Really?" 

"  Gossip  has  linked  us  together.  My  wife  has  heard 
it  and  put  the  worst  construction  on  it." 

"Well?" 

"  We  said  things  to  each  other  last  night  that  can 
never  be  forgiven  or  forgotten.  I  left  the  house  and 
walked  the  streets  —  hours !  I  looked  my  whole  life 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

back  and  through  as  though  it  were  some  stranger's." 
He  turned  abruptly  away  to  the  windows  and  stayed  a 
moment,  looking  down  the  drive. 

Ethel  said  nothing. 

He  came  back  to  her  in  a  few  moments. 

"  I  tell  you  we  ought  to  be  taught  —  we  ought  to  be 
taught,  when  we  are  young,  what  marriage  really  means, 
just  as  we  are  taught  not  to  steal,  nor  lie,  nor  sin.  In 
marriage  we  do  all  three  —  when  we're  ill-mated.  We 
steal  affection  from  some  one  else,  we  lie  in  our  lives  and 
we  sin  in  our  relationship." 

Ethel  asked  him  very  quietly: 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  a  sinner,  a  thief,  and  a 
liar?" 

Brent  looked  at  her  in  horror. 

"  Oh,  take  some  of  the  blame,"  said  Ethel ;  "  don't  put 
it  all  on  the  woman." 

"  You've  never  spoken  to  me  like  this  before." 

"  I've  often  wanted  to,"  replied  Ethel.  Then  she 
asked  him:  "  What  do  you  intend  doing?" 

"  Separate,"  he  answered,  eagerly.  "  You  don't  doc- 
tor a  poisoned  limb  when  your  life  depends  on  it ;  you 
cut  it  off.  When  two  lives  generate  a  deadly  poison, 
face  the  problem  as  a  surgeon  would.  Amputate." 

"  And  after  the  operation  ?  What  then  ? "  asked 
Ethel. 

"  That  is  why  I  am  here  facing  you.  Do  you  under- 
stand what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes.  Perfectly.  I  have  been  waiting  for 
you  to  get  to  the  point." 

"Ethel!"  and  he  impulsively  stretched  out  his  arms 
as  though  to  embrace  her. 

She  drew  back  slightly,  just  out  of  his  reach. 

"  Wait."     She  looked  up  at  him,  quizzically :     "  Sup- 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  147 

pose  we  generate  poison?  What  would  you  do?  Am- 
putate me?  " 

"  You  are  different  from  all  other  women." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  your  wife  that  when  you  asked  her 
to  marry  you  ?  " 

He  turned  away  impatiently :  "  Don't  say  those 
things,  Ethel,  they  hurt." 

"I'm  afraid,  Christian,  I'm  too  frank,  aren't  I?" 

"  You  stand  alone,  Ethel.  You  seem  to  look  into  the 
hearts  of  people  and  know  why  and  how  they  beat." 

"I  do  —  sometimes.     It's  an  awkward  faculty." 

He  looked  at  her  glowingly :  "  How  marvellously  dif- 
ferent two  women  can  be !  You  —  my  wife." 

Ethel  shook  her  head  and  smiled  her  calm,  dead  smile : 
"  We're  not  really  very  different,  Christian.  Only  some 
natures  like  change.  Yours  does.  And  the  new  have 
all  the  virtues.  Why,  I  might  not  last  as  long  as  your 
wife  did." 

"  Don't  say  that.  We  have  a  common  bond  —  under- 
standing." 

"Think  so?" 

"  I  understand  you." 

"  I  wonder." 

"  You  do  me." 

"  Yes  —  that  is  just  the  difficulty." 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  at  the  cross-roads.  The  fingerboard 
points  the  way  to  me  distinctly." 

"Does  it?" 

"It  does."  He  leaned  across  to  her:  "Would  you 
risk  it?" 

"What?"  she  asked. 

"  I'll  hide  nothing.  I'll  put  it  all  before  you.  The 
snubs  of  your  friends.  The  whisper  of  a  scandal  that 
would  grow  into  a  roar.  Afraid  to  open  a  newspaper, 


148  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

fearing  what  might  be  printed  in  it.  Life,  at  first, 
in  some  little  Continental  village  —  dreading  the  passers 
through  —  keeping  out  of  sight  lest  they  would  recog- 
nise one.  No.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  you." 

Ethel  thought  a  moment,  then  answered  slowly: 

"  No,  Chris,  I  don't  think  it  would." 

"  You  see  I  am  a  cad  —  just  a  selfish  cad !  " 

"  Aren't  you  ?  "  and  she  smiled  up  at  him. 

"  I'll  never  speak  of  this  again.  I  wouldn't  have  now 
—  only  —  I'm  distracted  to-day  —  completely  dis- 
tracted. Will  you  forgive  me  for  speaking  as  I  did?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  Ethel.  "I'm  not  offended.  On 
the  contrary.  [Anyway,  I'll  think  it  over  and  let  you 
know." 

"  You  will,  really?  "  he  asked  greedily,  grasping  at 
the  straw  of  a  hope.  "  You  will  really  think  it  over  ?  " 

"  I  will,  really." 

"  And  when  she  sets  me  free,"  he  went  on,  "  we  could, 
we  could  — "  He  suddenly  stopped. 

She  looked  coolly  at  him  as  he  hesitated  and  said :  "  It 
is  a  difficult  little  word  at  times,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Would  you  marry  me?"  he  asked,  with  a  supreme 
effort. 

"  I  never  cross  my  bridges  until  I  come  to  them," 
said  Ethel,  languidly.  "  And  we're  such  a  long  way 
from  tJiat  one,  aren't  we?  " 

"Then  I  am  to  wait?" 

"  Yes.  Do,"  she  replied.  "  When  the  time  comes 
to  accept  the  charity  of  relations,  or  do  something  useful 
for  tuppence  a  week,  Bohemian  France  or  Italy  —  but 
then  the  runaways  always  go  to  France  or  Italy,  don't 
they  ?  —  Suppose  we  say  Hungary  ?  Shall  we  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer. 

She  went  on :     "  Very  well.     When  I  have  to  choose 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  149 

between  charity  and  labour,  Bohemian  Hungary  may 
beckon  me." 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way.  What  new  mood 
was  this? 

"Charity?"   he    asked.     "Labour?" 

"  Yes.  It  has  come  to  that.  A  tiresome  bank  has 
failed  with  all  our  sixpences  locked  up  in  it.  Isn't  it 
stupid?  " 

"  Is  all  your  money  gone  ?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"Good  God!" 

"  Dear  mamma  knows  as  little  about  business  as  she 
does  about  me.  Until  this  morning  she  has  always  had 
a  rooted  belief  in  her  bank  and  her  daughter.  If  I  bolt 
with  you,  her  last  cherished  illusion  will  be  destroyed." 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"  How?  "  and  she  looked  at  him  again  with  that  cold, 
hard  scrutiny.  "  Lend  us  money,  do  you  mean?  " 

He  fell  into  the  trap. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  I'd  do  that  if  you'd  let  me." 

She  gave  just  the  suggestion  of  a  sneer  and  turned 
deliberately  away. 

He  felt  the  fcrce  of  the  unspoken  reproof: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  humbly. 

She  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard  the  offensive  sug- 
gestion :  "  So  you  see  we're  both,  in  a  way,  at  the  cross- 
roads." 

He  seized  her  hand  fiercely :  "  Let  me  take  you  away 
out  of  it  all ! "  he  cried. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  slowly. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  just  now.  I'm  not  in  a  bolting 
mood  to-day." 

He  moved  away.  She  watched  him.  Then  she  called 
him  to  her.  Something  in  the  man  attracted  this  strange 


100  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

nature.  She  could  not  analyse  or  define  the  attraction. 
But  the  impelling  force  was  there. 

He  went  to  her. 

Ethel  spoke  to  him  for  the  first  time  softly,  languor- 
ously, almost  caressingly: 

"  Chris  !  Sometime  —  perhaps  in  the  dead  of  night 
—  something  will  snap  in  me  —  the  slack,  selfish,  luxuri- 
ous me,  that  hates  to  be  roused  into  action,  and  the 
craving  for  adventure  will  come.  Then  I'll  send  for  you." 

He  took  her  hand  again  and  this  time  she  did  not 
draw  it  away.  He  said  in  a  whisper : 

"  And  you'll  go  with  me  ?  " 

Ethel  stretched  lazily  and  smiled  at  him  through  her 
half-closed  eyes. 

"  I  suppose  so.     Then  Heaven  help  you !  " 

"  Why  should  we  wait?"  he  cried. 

"  It  will  give  us  the  suspense  of  expectation." 

"  I  want  you !     I  need  you !  "  he  pleaded. 

"  Until  the  time  comes  for  amputation?  " 

"  Don't !  Don't ! "  and  he  dropped  her  hand  sud- 
denly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  you  to  have  any  illusions  about 
me,  Chris.  I  have  none  about  you.  Let  us  begin  fair 
anyway.  It  will  be  so  much  easier  when  the  end  comes." 

"  There  will  be  no  end,"  he  said  passionately.  "  I 
love  you  —  love  you  with  every  breath  of  my  body, 
every  thought  in  my  mind,  every  throb  of  my  nerves.  I 
love  you !  "  He  kissed  her  hand  repeatedly.  "  I  love 
you !  "  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  her  to  him. 

She  struggled  with  him  without  any  anger,  or  disgust, 
or  fear.  As  she  put  him  away  from  her  she  just  said 
simply : 

"  Please  don't.     It's  so  hot  this  morning." 

As  she  turned  away  from  him  she  was  struck  dumb. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  151 

Sitting  beside  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  her 
back  turned  to  them,  was  the  strangest,  oddest  little  figure 
Ethel  had  ever  seen. 

Who  was  she?     How  long  had  she  been  in  the  room? 

Ethel  turned  to  Brent.  He  was  quite  pale  now  and 
was  nervously  stroking  his  slight  moustache. 

Ethel  was  furious !  It  was  incredible  that  Brent  could 
have  been  so  indiscreet! 

How  on  earth  did  that  creature  get  there  without 
their  hearing  or  seeing  her? 

Ethel  went  straight  to  the  demure  little  figure  sitting 
on  the  chair. 


CHAPTER  III 

PEG  ARKIVES  IN  ENGLAND 

PEG'S  journey  to  England  was  one  of  the  unhappiest 
memories  of  her  life.  She  undertook  the  voyage  de- 
liberately to  please  her  father,  because  he  told  her  it 
would  please  him.  But  beneath  this  feeling  of  pleasing 
him  was  one  of  sullen  resentment  at  being  made  to  sepa- 
rate from  him. 

She  planned  all  kinds  of  reprisals  upon  the  unfortu- 
nate people  she  was  going  amongst.  She  would  be  so 
rude  to  them  and  so  unbearable  that  they  would  be  glad 
to  send  her  back  on  the  next  boat.  She  schemed  out  her 
whole  plan  of  action.  She  would  contradict  and  disobey 
and  berate  and  belittle.  Nothing  they  would  do  would 
be  right  to  her  and  nothing  she  would  do  or  say  would 
be  right  to  them.  She  took  infinite  pleasure  in  her  plan 
of  campaign.  Then  when  she  was  enjoying  the  pleasure 
of  such  resentful  dreams  she  would  think  of  her  father 
waiting  for  news  of  her :  of  his  pride  in  her :  of  how  much 
he  wanted  her  to  succeed.  She  would  realise  how  much 
the  parting  meant  to  him,  and  all  her  little  plots  would 
tumble  down  and  she  would  resolve  to  try  and  please  her 
relations,  learn  all  she  could,  succeed  beyond  all  expres- 
sion and  either  go  back  to  America  prosperous,  or  send 
for  her  father  to  join  her  in  England.  All  her  dreams 
had  her  father,  either  centrifugally  or  centripetally,  beat- 
ing through  them. 

She  refused  all  advances  of  friendship  aboard  ship. 
No  one  dared  speak  to  her.  She  wanted  to  be  alone  in 

her  sorrow.     She  and  "  Michael "  would  romp   on  the 

152 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  153 

lower  deck,  by  favour  of  one  of  the  seamen,  who  would 
keep  a  sharp  look-out  for  officers. 

This  seaman  —  O'Farrell  by  name  —  took  quite  a  lik- 
ing to  Peg  and  the  dog  and  did  many  little  kindly, 
gracious  acts  to  minister  to  the  comfort  of  both  of  them. 

He  warned  her  that  they  would  not  let  "  Michael  "  go 
with  her  from  the  dock  until  he  had  first  been  quaran- 
tined. This  hurt  Peg  more  than  anything  could.  She 
burst  into  tears.  To  have  **  Michael  "  taken  from  her 
would  be  the  last  misfortune.  She  would  indeed  be  alone 
in  that  strange  country.  She  was  inconsolable. 

O'Farrell,  at  last,  took  it  on  himself  to  get  the  dog 
ashore.  He  would  wrap  him  up  in  some  sail  cloths,  and 
then  he  would  carry  "  Michael  "  outside  the  gates  when 
the  Customs'  authorities  had  examined  her  few  belong- 
ings. 

When  they  reached  Liverpool  O'Farrell  was  as  good  as 
his  word,  though  many  were  the  anxious  moments  they 
had  as  one  or  other  of  the  Customs'  officers  would  eye  the 
suspicious  package  O'Farrell  carried  so  carelessly  under 
his  arm. 

At  the  dock  a  distinguished-looking  gentleman  came 
on  board  and  after  some  considerable  difficulty  succeeded 
in  locating  Peg.  He  was  a  well-dressed,  soft-speaking, 
vigorous  man  of  forty-five.  He  inspired  Peg  with  an  in- 
stant dislike  by  his  somewhat  authoritative  and  pompous 
manner.  He  introduced  himself  as  Mr.  Montgomery 
Hawkes,  the  legal  adviser  for  the  Kingsnorth  estate,  and 
at  once  proceeded  to  take  charge  of  Peg  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

Poor  Peg  felt  ashamed  of  her  poor  little  bag,  contain- 
ing just  a  few  changes  of  apparel,  and  her  little  paper 
bundle.  She  was  mortified  when  she  walked  down  the 
gangway  with  the  prosperous-looking  lawyer  whilst  ex- 


154»  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

travagantly  dressed  people  with  piles  of  luggage  dashed 
here  and  there  endeavouring  to  get  it  examined. 

But  Mr.  Hawkes  did  not  appear  to  notice  Peg's  shab- 
biness.  On  the  contrary  he  treated  her  and  her  belong- 
ings as  though  she  were  the  most  fashionable  of  fine 
ladies  and  her  wardrobe  the  most  complete. 

Outside  the  gates  she  found  O'Farrell  waiting  for  her, 
with  the  precious  "  Michael  "  struggling  to  free  himself 
from  his  coverings.  Hawkes  soon  had  a  cab  alongside. 
He  helped  Peg  into  it:  then  she  stretched  out  her  arms 
and  O'Farrell  opened  the  sail-cloths  and  out  sprang 
'*  Michael,"  dusty  and  dirty  and  blear-eyed,  but  oh !  such 
a  happy,  fussy,  affectionate,  relieved  little  canine  when 
he  saw  his  beloved  owner  waiting  for  him.  He  made 
one  spring  at  her,  much  to  the  lawyer's  dignified  amaze- 
ment, and  began  to  bark  at  her,  and  lick  her  face  and 
hands,  and  jump  on  and  roll  over  and  over  upon  Peg  in 
an  excess  of  joy  at  his  release. 

Peg  offered  O'Farrell  an  American  dollar.  She  had 
very  little  left. 

O'Farrell  indignantly  refused  to  take  it. 

"  Oh,  but  ye  must,  indade  ye  must,"  cried  Peg  in  dis- 
tress. "  Sure  I  won't  lie  aisy  to-night  if  ye  don't.  But 
for  you  poor  '  Michael '  here  might  have  been  on  that 
place  ye  spoke  of  —  that  Quarantine,  whatever  it  is. 
Ye  saved  him  from  that.  And  don't  despise  it  because 
it's  an  American  dollar.  Sure  it  has  a  value  all  over  the 
wurrld.  An'  besides  I  have  no  English  money."  Poor 
Peg  pleaded  that  O'Farrell  should  take  it.  He  had  been 
so  nice  to  her  all  the  way  over. 

Hawkes  interposed  skilfully,  gave  O'Farrell  five  shill- 
ings ;  thanked  him  warmly  for  his  kindness  to  Peg  and 
her  dog ;  returned  the  dollar  to  Peg :  let  her  say  good-bye 
to  the  kindly  sailor :  told  the  cabman  to  drive  to  a  certain 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  155 

railway  station,  and  in  a  few  seconds  they  were  bowling 
along  and  Peg  had  entered  a  new  country  and  a  new 
life.  They  reached  the  railway  station  and  Hawkes  pro- 
cured tickets  and  in  half  an  hour  they  were  on  a  train 
bound  for  the  north  of  England. 

During  the  journey  Hawkes  volunteered  no  infor- 
mation. He  bought  her  papers  and  magazines  and  of- 
fered her  lunch.  This  Peg  refused.  She  said  the  ship 
had  not  agreed  with  her.  She  did  not  think  she  would 
want  food  for  a  long  time  to  come. 

After  a  while,  tired  out  with  the  rush  and  excitement 
of  the  ship's  arrival,  Peg  fell  asleep. 

In  a  few  hours  they  reached  their  destination. 
Hawkes  woke  her  and  told  her  she  was  at  her  journey's 
end.  He  again  hailed  a  cab,  told  the  driver  where  to  go 
and  got  in  with  Peg,  "  Michael  "  and  her  luggage.  In 
the  cab  he  handed  Peg  a  card  and  told  her  to  go  to  the 
address  written  on  it  and  ask  the  people  there  to  allow 
her  to  wait  until  he  joined  her.  He  had  a  business  call 
to  make  in  the  town.  He  would  be  as  short  a  time  as 
possible.  She  was  just  to  tell  the  people  that  she  had 
been  asked  to  call  there  and  wait. 

After  the  cab  had  gone  through  a  few  streets  it  stopped 
before  a  big  building;  Hawkes  got  out,  told  the  cabman 
where  to  take  Peg,  paid  him,  and  with  some  final  ad- 
monitions to  Peg,  disappeared  through  the  swing-doors 
of  the  Town  Hall. 

The  cabman  took  the  wondering  Peg  along  until  he 
drove  up  to  a  very  handsome  Elizabethan  house.  There 
he  stopped.  Peg  looked  at  the  name  on  the  gate-posts 
and  then  at  the  name  on  the  card  Mr.  Hawkes  had  given 
her.  They  were  the  same.  Once  more  she  gathered  up 
her  belongings  and  her  dog  and  passed  in  through  the 
gateposts  and  wandered  up  the  long  drive  on  a  tour  of 


156  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

inspection.  She  walked  through  paths  dividing  rose- 
beds  until  she  came  to  some  open  windows.  The  main 
entrance-hall  of  the  house  seemed  to  be  hidden  away 
somewhere  amid  the  tall  old  trees. 

Peg  made  straight  for  the  open  windows  and  walked 
into  the  most  wonderful  looking  room  she  had  ever  seen. 
Everything  in  it  was  old  and  massive ;  it  bespoke  cen- 
turies gone  by  in  every  detail.  Peg  held  her  breath  as 
she  looked  around  her.  Pictures  and  tapestries  stared 
at  her  from  the  walls.  Beautiful  old  vases  were  arranged 
in  cabinets.  The  carpet  was  deep  and  soft  and  stifled 
all  sound.  Peg  almost  gave  an  ejaculation  of  surprise 
at  the  wonders  of  the  room  when  she  suddenly  became 
conscious  that  she  was  not  alone  in  the  room :  that  others 
were  there  and  that  they  were  talking. 

She  looked  in  the  direction  the  sounds  came  from  and 
saw  to  her  astonishment,  a  man  with  a  woman  in  his 
arms.  He  was  speaking  to  her  in  a  most  ardent  manner. 
They  were  partially  concealed  by  some  statuary. 

Peg  concluded  at  once  that  she  had  intruded  on  some 
marital  scene  at  which  she  was  not  desired,  so  she  in- 
stantly sat  down  with  her  back  to  them. 

She  tried  not  to  listen,  but  some  of  the  words  came  dis- 
tinctly to  her.  Just  as  she  was  becoming  very  uncom- 
fortable and  had  half  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  the 
room  and  find  somewhere  else  to  wait,  she  suddenly  heard 
herself  addressed,  and  in  no  uncertain  tone  of  voice. 
There  was  indignation,  surprise  and  anger  in  Ethel's 
question : 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  " 

Peg  turned  round  and  saw  a  strikingly  handsome, 
beautifully  dressed  young  lady  glaring  down  at  her. 
Her  manner  was  haughty  in  the  extreme.  Peg  felt  most 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  157 

unhappy  as  she  looked  at  her  and  did  not  answer  imme- 
diately. 

A  little  (distance  away  was  a  dark,  handsome  young 
man  who  was  looking  at  Peg  with  a  certain  languid  in- 
terest. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?  "  again  asked  Ethel. 

"  Sure  I  only  came  in  this  minnit,"  said  Peg  inno- 
cently and  with  a  little  note  of  fear.  She  was  not  ac- 
customed to  fine-looking,  splendidly-dressed  young  ladies 
like  Ethel. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded  the  young  lady. 

"  Nothin',"  said  Peg  reassuringly. 

"  Nothing?  "  echoed  Ethel,  growing  angrier  every  mo- 
ment. 

"  Not  a  thing.     I  was  just  told  to  wait,"  said  Peg. 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  A  gentleman,"  replied  Peg. 

"  What  gentleman ?  "  asked  Ethel  sharply  and  suspi- 
ciously. 

"  Just  a  gentleman."  Peg,  after  fumbling  nervously 
in  her  pocket,  produced  the  card  Mr.  Hawkes  had  given 
her,  which  **  Michael  "  immediately  attempted  to  take 
possession  of.  Peg  snatched  it  away  from  the  dog  and 
handed  it  to  the  young  lady. 

"  He  told  me  to  wait  there" 

Ethel  took  the  card  irritably  and  read: 

"  *  Mrs.  Chichester,  Regal  Villa.'  And  what  clo  you 
want  with  Mrs.  Chichester?  "  she  asked  Peg,  at  the  same 
time  looking  at  the  shabby  clothes,  the  hungry-looking 
dog,  and  the  soiled  parcel. 

"  I  don't  want  anythin'  with  her.  I  was  just  told  to 
wait!" 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 


158  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Peg  was  now  getting  angry  too.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  manner  of  the  proud  young  lady.  Peg  chafed 
under  it.  She  looked  up  sullenly  into  Ethel's  face  and 
said: 

"  I  was  not  to  say  a  wurrd,  I'm  tellin'  ye.  I  was  just 
to  wait."  Peg  settled  back  in  the  chair  and  stroked 
*'  Michael."  This  questioning  was  not  at  all  to  her 
liking.  She  wished  Mr.  Hawkes  would  come  and  get  her 
out  of  a  most  embarrassing  position.  But  until  he  did 
she  was  not  going  to  disobey  his  instructions.  He  told 
her  to  say  nothing,  so  nothing  would  she  say. 

Ethel  turned  abruptly  to  Brent  and  found  that  gentle- 
man looking  at  the  odd  little  stranger  somewhat  admir- 
ingly. She  gave  an  impatient  ejaculation  and  turned 
back  to  Peg  quickly: 

"  You  say  you  have  only  been  here  a  minute  ?  " 

"  That's  all,"  replied  Peg.     "  Just  a  minnit." 

"  Were  we  talking  when  you  came  in  ?  " 

"  Ye  were." 

Ethel  could  scarcely  conceal  her  rage. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  we  said  ?  " 

"  Some  of  it.     Not  much,"  said  Peg. 

"What  did  you  hear?" 

"  Please  don't  —  it's  so  hot  this  mornin',"  said  Peg 
with  no  attempt  at  imitation  —  just  as  if  she  were  stat- 
ing a  simple,  ordinary  occurrence. 

Ethel  flushed  scarlet.     Brent  smiled. 

"  You  refuse  to  say  why  you're  here  or  who  you  are?  " 
Ethel  again  asked. 

"  It  isn't  me  that's  refusin'.  All  the  gentleman  said 
to  me  was,  '  Ye  go  to  the  place  that's  written  down  on 
the  card  and  ye  sit  down  there  an'  wait.  And  that's  all 
ye  do.'  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  159 

Ethel  again  turned  to  the  perplexed  Brent :     "  Eh  ?  " 

"  Extraordinary !  "  and  Brent  shook  his  head. 

The  position  was  unbearable.  Ethel  decided  instantly 
how  to  relieve  it.  She  looked  f reezingly  down  at  the  for- 
lorn-looking little  intruder  and  said: 

"  The  servants'  quarters  are  at  the  back  of  the  house." 

"  Are  they?"  asked  Peg,  without  moving,  and  not  in 
any  way  taking  the  statement  to  refer  to  her. 

"  And  I  may  save  you  the  trouble  of  -waiting  by  telling 
you  we  are  quite  provided  with  servants.  We  do  not 
need  any  further  assistance." 

Peg  just  looked  at  Ethel  and  then  bent  down  over 
"  Michael."  Ethel's  last  shot  had  struck  home.  Poor 
Peg  was  cut  through  to  her  soul.  How  she  longed  at 
that  moment  to  be  back  home  with  her  father  in  New 
York.  Before  she  could  say  anything  Ethel  continued: 

"  If  you  insist  on  waiting  kindly  do  so  there." 

Peg  took  "  Michael  "  up  in  her  arms,  collected  once 
more  her  packages  and  walked  to  the  windows.  Again 
she  heard  the  cold  hard  tones  of  Ethel's  voice  speaking 
to  her: 

"  Follow  the  path  to  your  right  until  you  come  to  a 
door.  Knock  and  ask  permission  to  wait  there,  and  for 
your  future  guidance  go  to  the  back  door  of  a  house  and 
ring,  don't  walk  unannounced  into  a  private  room." 

Peg  tried  to  explain: 

"Ye  see,  ma'am,  I  didn't  know.  All  the  gentleman 
said  was  '  Go  there  and  wait ' — " 

"  That  will  do." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  disturbed  yez."  And  she  glanced  at  the 
embarrassed  Brent. 

"  That  will  do!  "  said  Ethel  finally. 

Poor  Peg  nodded  and  wandered  off  through  the  win- 


160  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

dows  sore  at  heart.  She  went  down  the  path  until  she 
reached  the  door  Ethel  mentioned.  She  knocked  at  it. 
While  she  is  waiting  for  admission  we  will  return  to  the 
fortunes  of  the  rudely-disturbed  lovers  (  ?), 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  CHICHESTER  FAMILY  RECEIVES  A  SECOND  SHOCK 

ETHEL  turned  indignantly  to  Brent,  as  the  little  figure 
went  off  down  the  path. 

"  Outrageous !  "  she  cried. 

"  Poor  little  wretch."  Brent  walked  to  the  windows 
and  looked  after  her.  "  She's  quite  pretty." 

Ethel  looked  understandingly  at  him:     "7*  she?" 

"  In  a  shabby  sort  of  way.     Didn't  you  think  so?  " 

Ethel  glared  coldly  at  him. 

"  I  never  notice  the  lower  orders.  You  apparently 
iJo." 

"  Oh,  yes  —  often.  They're  very  interesting  —  at 
times."  He  strained  to  get  a  last  glimpse  of  the  in- 
truder : 

"  Do  you  know,  she's  the  strangest  little  appari- 
tion — " 

"  She's  only  a  few  yards  away  if  you  care  to  follow 
her ! " 

Her  tone  brought  Brent  up  sharply.  He  turned  away 
from  the  window  and  found  Ethel  —  arms  folded,  eyes 
flashing  —  waiting  for  him.  Something  in  her  manner 
alarmed  him.  He  had  gone  too  far. 

"  Why,  Ethel," —  he  said,  as  he  came  toward  her. 

"  Suppose  my  mother  had  walked  in  here  —  or  Alaric 
—  instead  of  that  creature  ?  Never  do  such  a  thing 
again." 

"  I  was  carried  away,"  he  hastened  to  explain. 

"  Kindly  exercise   a  little  more   restraint.     You  had 

better  go  now."     There  was  a  finality  of  dismissal  in  her 

161 


162  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

tone  as  she  passed  him  and  crossed  to  the  great  staircase. 
He  followed  her: 

"  May  I  call  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No,"   she   answered   decidedly.     "  Not  to-morrow." 

"  The  following  day,  then,"  he  urged. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Remember  —  I  build  on  you." 

She  looked  searchingly  at  him: 

"  I  suppose  we  are  worthy  of  each  other." 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  sound  of  voices. 

"  Go ! "  she  said  imperatively  and  she  passed  on  up 
the  stairs.  Brent  went  rapidly  to  the  door.  Before 
either  he  could  open  it  or  Ethel  go  out  of  sight  Alaric 
burst  in  through  the  windows. 

"Hello,  Brent,"  he  cried  cheerfully.  "  Disturbin' 
ye?  "  And  he  caught  Ethel  as  she  was  about  to  dis- 
appear: "Or  you,  Ethel?" 

Ethel  turned  and  answered  coolly: 

"  You've  not  disturbed  me." 

"  I'm  just  going,"  said  Brent. 

"  Well,  wait  a  moment,"  and  Alaric  turned  to  the 
window  and  beckoned  to  someone  on  the  path  and  in 
from  the  garden  came  Mr.  Montgomery  Hawkes. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  energetic  Alaric.  "  Come  in. 
Ethel,  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Hawkes  —  Mr.  Hawkes 
—  my  sister.  Mr.  Brent  —  Mr.  Hawkes."  Having 
satisfactorily  introduced  everyone  he  said  to  Ethel: 
"  See  if  the  mater's  well  enough  to  come  down,  like  a 
dear,  will  ye?  This  gentleman  has  come  from  London 
to  see  her.  D'ye  mind?  And  come  back  yourself,  too, 
like  an  angel.  He  says  he  has  some  business  that  con- 
cerns the  whole  family." 

Ethel  disappeared  without  a  word. 

Alaric  bustled  Hawkes  into  a  chair  and  then  seized  the 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  163 

somewhat  uncomfortable  Brent  by  an  unwilling  hand  and 
shook  it  warmly  as  he  asked: 

"  Mu^t  you  go?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Brent  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Alaric  dashed  to  the  door  and  opened  it  as  though  to 
speed  the  visitor  on  his  way. 

"  So  sorry  I  was  out  when  you  called,"  lied  Alaric 
nimbly.  "  Run  in  any  time.  Always  delighted  to  see 
you.  Delighted.  Is  the  angel  wife  all  well?  " 

Brent  bowed :     "  Thank  you." 

"And  the  darling  child?" 

Brent  frowned.  He  crossed  to  the  door  and  turned 
in  the  frame  and  admonished  Alaric: 

"  Please  give  my  remembrances  to  your  mother." 
Then  he  passed  out.  As  he  disappeared  the  irrepres- 
sible Alaric  called  after  him : 

"  Certainly.  She'll  be  so  disappointed  not  to  have 
seen  you.  Run  in  any  time  —  any  time  at  all."  Alaric 
closed  the  door  and  saw  his  mother  and  Ethel  coming 
down  the  stairs. 

All  traces  of  emotion  had  disappeared  from  Ethel's 
face  and  manner.  She  was  once  again  in  perfect 
command  of  herself.  She  carried  a  beautiful  little 
French  poodle  in  her  arms  and  was  feeding  her  with 
sugar. 

Alaric  fussily  brought  his  mother  forward. 

"  Mater,  dear,"  he  said ;  "  I  found  this  gentleman  in  a 
rose-bed  enquiring  the  way  to  our  lodge.  He's  come  all 
the  way  from  dear  old  London  just  to  see  you.  Mr. 
Hawkes  —  my  mother." 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  at  Hawkes  anxiously. 

"  You  have  come  to  see  me?  " 

"  On  a  very  important  and  a  very  private  family  mat- 
ter," replied  Hawkes,  gravely. 


164  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

*'  Important?  Private?. "  asked  Mrs.  Chichester  in 
surprise. 

"  We're  the  family,  Mr.  Hawkes,"  ventured  Alaric, 
helpfully. 

Mrs.  Chichester's  forebodings  came  uppermost.  After 
the  news  of  the  bank's  failure  nothing  would  surprise  her 
now  in  the  way  of  calamity.  What  could  this  grave, 
dignified-looking  man  want  with  them?  Her  eyes  filled. 

"  Is  it  bad  news  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  answered  Mr.  Hawkes,  genially. 

"  Well  —  is  it  good  news  ?  "  queried  Alaric. 

"  In  a  measure,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Then  for  heaven's  sake  get  at  it.  You've  got  me 
all  clammy.  We  could  do  with  a  little  good  news.  Wait 
a  minute !  Is  it  by  any  chance  about  the  bank?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Hawkes.  He  cleared  his  throat 
and  said  solemnly  and  impressively  to  Mrs.  Chichester: 

"  It  is  about  your  late  brother  —  Nathaniel  Kings- 
north." 

"  Late ! "  cried  Mrs.  Chichester.  "  Is  Nathaniel 
dead?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  Hawkes  gravely.  "  He  died  ten 
days  ago." 

Mrs.  Chichester  sat  down  and  silently  wept.  Na- 
thaniel to  have  died  without  her  being  with  him  to  com- 
fort him  and  arrange  things  with  him!  It  was  most 
unfortunate. 

Alaric  tried  to  feel  sorry,  but  inasmuch  as  his  uncle 
had  always  refused  to  see  him  he  could  not  help  thinking 
it  may  have  been  retribution.  However,  he  tried  to  show 
a  fair  and  decent  measure  of  regret. 

"  Poor  old  Nat,"  he  cried.     "  Eh,  Ethel?  " 

"  Never  saw  him,"  answered  Ethel,  her  face  and  voice 
totally  without  emotion. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  165 

"  You  say  he  died  ten  dajs  ago  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester. 

Mr.  Hawkes  bowed. 

"  Why  was  I  not  informed  ?     The  funeral  —  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  funeral,"  replied  Mr.  Hawkes. 

"No  funeral?"  said  Alaric  in  astonishment. 

"  No,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  In  obedience  to  his  writ- 
ten wishes  he  was  cremated  and  no  one  was  present 
except  the  chief  executor  and  myself.  If  I  may  use  Mr. 
Kingsnorth's  words  without  giving  pain,  he  said  he  so 
little  regretted  not  having  seen  any  of  his  relations  for 
the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life-time  he  was  sure  they 
would  regret  equally  little  his  death.  On  no  account  was 
anyone  to  wear  mourning  for  him,  nor  were  they  to  ex- 
press any  open  sorrow.  '  They  wouldn't  feel  it,  so  why 
lie  about  it?  '  I  use  his  own  words,"  added  Mr.  Hawkes, 
as  if  disclaiming  all  responsibility  for  such  a  remarkable 
point  of  view. 

"  What  a  rum  old  bird ! "  remarked  Alaric,  contem- 
platively. 

Mrs.  Chichester  wept  as  she  said: 

"  He  was  always  the  most  unfeeling,  the  most  heart- 
less —  the  most  — " 

"  Now  in  his  will  — "  interrupted  the  lawyer,  produc- 
ing a  leather  pocket-book  filled  with  important-looking 
papers :  "  In  his  will  — "  he  repeated  — 

Mrs.  Chichester  stopped  crying: 

"Eh?     A  will?" 

"  What  ?  "  said  Alaric,  beaming ;  u  did  the  dear  old 
gentleman  leave  a  will?  " 

Even  Ethel  stopped  playing  with  "  Pet  "  and  listened 
languidly  to  the  conversation. 

Mr.  Hawkes,  realising  he  had  theif  complete  interest, 
went  on  importantly : 


166  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

"  As  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  legal  adviser  up  to  the  time  of 
his  untimely  death  I  have  come  here  to  make  you  ac- 
quainted with  some  of  its  contents." 

He  spread  a  formidable-looking  document  wide-open 
on  the  table,  adjusted  his  pince-nez  and  prepared  to  read. 

"  Dear  old  Nat !  "  said  Alaric  reflectively.  "  Do  you 
remember,  mater,  we  met  him  at  Victoria  Station  once 
when  I  was  little  more  than  a  baby?  Yet  I  can  see  him 
now  as  plainly  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  A  portly,  sandy - 
haired  old  buck,  with  three  jolly  chins." 

"  He  was  whAte  toward  the  end,  and  very,  very  thin," 
said  Mr.  Hawkes  softly. 

•  "Was  he?"  from  Alaric.  "Fancy  that.  It  just 
shows,  mater,  doesn't  it?  "  He  bent  eagerly  over  the 
table  as  Hawkes  traced  some  figures  with  a  pencil  on  one 
of  the  pages  of  the  will. 

"How  much  did  he  leave?"  And  Alaric's  voice  rose 
to  a  pitch  of  well-defined  interest. 

"  His  estate  is  valued,  approximately,  at  some  two 
hundred  thousand  pounds,"  replied  the  lawyer. 

Alaric  gave  a  long,  low  whistle,  and  smiled  a  broad, 
comprehensive  smile. 

Ethel  for  the  first  time  showed  a  gleam  of  genuine  in- 
terest. 

Mrs.  Chichester  began  to  cry  again.  "  Perhaps  it 
was  my  fault  I  didn't  see  him  oftener,"  she  said. 

Alaric,  unable  to  curb  his  curiosity,  burst  out  with : 
"  How  did  the  old  boy  split  it  up?  " 

"  To  his  immediate  relations  he  left  — "  Mr.  Hawkes 
looked  up  from  the  will  and  found  three  pairs  of  eyes 
fixed  on  him.  He  stopped.  It  may  be  that  constant  as- 
sociation with  the  law  courts  destroys  faith  in  human 
nature  —  but  whatever  the  cause,  it  seemed  to  Mr. 
Hawkes  in  each  of  those  eyes  was  reflected  the  one  dom- 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  16T 

inant  feeling- — greed.  The  expression  in  the  family's 
combined  eyeg  was  astonishing  in  its  directness,  its  bare- 
facedness.  It  struck  the  dignified  gentleman  suddenly 
dumb. 

"Well?  Well?"  cried  Alaric.  "How  much?  Don't 
stop  right  in  the  middle  of  an  important  thing  like  that. 
You  make  me  as  nervous  as  a  chicken." 

Mr.  Hawkes  returned  to  the  will  and  after  looking  at 
it  a  moment  without  reading  said: 

"  To  his  immediate  relations  Mr.  Kingsnorth  left,  I 
regret  to  say  —  nothing." 

A  momentary  silence  fell  like  a  pall  over  the  stricken 
Chichester  family. 

Mrs.  Chichester  rose,  indignation  flashing  from  the 
eyes  that  a  moment  since  showed  a  healthy  hope. 

"  Nothing?  "  she  cried  incredulously. 

"  Not  a  penny-piece  to  anyone  ?  "  ventured  Alaric. 

The  faintest  suspicion  of  a  smile  flitted  across  Ethel's 
face. 

Hawkes  looked  keenly  at  them  and  answered: 

"  I  deeply  regret  to  say  —  nothing." 

Mrs.  Chichester  turned  to  Ethel,  who  had  begun  to 
stroke  *'  Pet  "  again. 

"  His  own  flesh  and  blood ! "  cried  the  poor  lady. 

"  What  a  shabby  old  beggar ! "  commented  Alaric,  in- 
dignantly. 

"He  was  always  the  most  selfish,  the  most — "  began 
Mrs.  Chichester,  when  Mr.  Hawkes,  who  had  been  turn- 
ing over  the  pages  of  the  document  before  him,  gave  an 
ejaculation  of  relief: 

"  Ah !  Here  we  have  it.  This,  Mrs.  Chichester,  is 
how  Mr.  Kingsnorth  expressed  his  attitude  toward  his 
relations  in  his  last  will  and  testament. 

"  *  I  am  the  only  member  of  the  Kingsnorth  family  who 


168  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

ever  made  any  money.  All  my  precious  relations  either 
inherited  it  or  married  to  get  it.' — ' 

"  I  assure  you  — "  began  Mrs.  Chichester. 

Alaric  checked  her :  "  Half  a  moment,  mater.  Let 
us  hear  it  out  to  the  bitter  end.  He  must  have  been  an 
amusin'  old  gentleman !  " 

Mr.  Hawkes  ^resumed:  " — *  consequently  I  am  not 
going  to  leave  one  penny  to  relations  who  are  already 
well-provided  for.' ' 

Mrs.  Chichester  protested  vehemently : 

"  But  we  are  not  provided  for." 

"  No,"  added  Alaric.     "  Our  bank's  bust." 

"  We're  ruined,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Broke !  "  said  Alaric. 

"  We've  nothing !  "  wailed  the  old  lady. 

"  Not  thruppence,"  from  the  son. 

"  Dear,  dear,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  How  extremely 
painful." 

"Painful?  That's  not  the  word.  Disgustin'  I  call 
it,"  corrected  Alaric. 

Mr.  Hawkes  thought  a  moment.  Then  he  said: 
"  Under  those  circumstances,  perhaps  a  clause  in  the  will 
may  have  a  certain  interest  and  an  element  of  relief." 

As  two  drowning  people  clinging  to  the  proverbial 
straws  the  mother  and  son  waited  breathlessly  for  Mr. 
Hawkes  to  go  on. 

Ethel  showed  no  interest  whatever. 

"  When  Mr.  Kingsnorth  realised  that  he  had  not  very 
much  longer  to  live  he  spoke  constantly  of  his  other  sister 
—  Angela,"  resumed  Mr.  Hawkes. 

"  Angela  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Chichester  in  surprise ;  "  why, 
she  is  dead." 

"  That  was  why  he  spoke  of  her,"  said  Hawkes  gravely. 

"  And  not  a  word  of  me?  "  asked  Mrs.  Chichester. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  169 

"  We  will  come  to  that  a  little  later,"  and  Mr.  Hawkes 
again  referred  to  the  will.  "  It  appears  that  this  sister 
Angela  married  at  the  age  of  twenty,  a  certain  Irishman 
by  name  O'Connell,  and  was  cut  off  by  her  family  — " 

"  The  man  was  an  agitator  —  a  Fenian  agitator.  He 
hadn't  a  penny.  It  was  a  disgrace  — " 

Alaric  checked  his  mother  again. 

Hawkes  resumed:  " — was  cut  off  by  her  family  — 
went  to  the  United  States  of  America  with  her  husband, 
where  a  daughter  was  born.  After  going  through  many 
conditions  of  misery  with  her  husband,  who  never  seemed 
to  prosper,  she  died  shortly  after  giving  birth  to  the 
child."  He  looked  up :  "  Mr.  Kingsnorth  elsewhere 
expresses  his  lasting  regret  that  in  one  of  his  sister's 
acute  stages  of  distress  she  wrote  to  him  asking  him,  for 
the  first  time,  to  assist  her.  He  replied :  '  You  have 
made  your  bed ;  lie  in  it.' ' 

"  She  had  disgraced  the  family.  He  was  justified," 
broke  in  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  With  death  approaching,"  resumed  Hawkes,  "  Mr. 
Kingsnorth's  conscience  began  to  trouble  him  and  the 
remembrance  of  his  treatment  of  his  unfortunate  sister 
distressed  him.  If  the  child  were  alive  he  wanted  to  see 
her.  I  made  inquiries  and  found  that  the  girl  was  living 
with  her  father  in  very  poor  circumstances  in  the  City  of 
New  York.  We  sent  sufficient  funds  for  the  journey, 
together  with  a  request  to  the  father  to  allow  her  to  visit 
Mr.  Kingsnorth  in  England.  The  father  consented. 
However,  before  the  young  girl  sailed  Mr.  Kingsnorth 
died." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Alaric,  who  had  been  listening  intently. 
"  Died,  eh?  That  was  too  bad.  Died  before  seeing  her. 
Did  you  let  her  sail,  Mr.  Hawkes?  " 

"  Yes.     We  thought  it  best  to  bring  her  over  here  and 


170  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

acquaint  her  with  the  sad  news  after  her  arrival.  Had 
she  known  before  sailing  she  might  not  have  taken  the 
journey." 

"  But  what  was  the  use  of  bringing  her  over  when  Mr. 
Kingsnorth  was  dead?  "  asked  Alaric. 

"  For  this  reason,"  replied  Hawkes :  "  Realising  that 
he  might  never  see  her,  Mr.  Kingsnorth  made  the  most 
remarkable  provision  for  her  in  his  will." 

"  Provided  for  Tier  and  not  for  —  ?  "  began  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester. 

"  Here  is  the  provision,"  continued  Mr.  Hawkes,  again 
reading  from  the  will :  "  '  I  hereby  direct  that  the  sum 
of  one  thousand  pounds  a  year  be  paid  to  any  respectable 
Trell-connected  woman  of  breeding  and  family,  who  will 
undertake  the  education  and  up-bringing  of  my  niece, 
Margaret  O'Connell,  in  accordance  with  the  dignity  and 
tradition  of  the  Kingsnorths' — 

"  He  remembers  a  niece  he  never  saw  and  his  own 
sister — "  and  Mrs.  Chichester  once  more  burst  into 
tears. 

"  It  beats  cock-fighting,  that's  all  I  can  say,"  cried 
Alaric.  "  It  simply  beats  cock-fighting." 

Mr.  Hawkes  went  on  reading:  "  *  If  at  the  expiration 
of  one  year  my  niece  is  found  to  be,  in  the  judgment  of 
my  executors,  unworthy  of  further  interest,  she  is  to  be 
returned  to  her  father  and  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  a  year  paid  her  to  provide  her  with  the 
necessities  of  life.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  she  proves 
herself  worthy  of  the  best  traditions  of  the  Kingsnorth 
family,  the  course  of  training  is  to  be  continued  until 
she  reaches  the  age  of  twenty-one,  when  I  hereby  bequeath 
to  her  the  sum  of  five  thousand  pounds  a  year,  to  be  paid 
her  annually  out  of  my  estate  during  her  life-time  aad  to 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  171 

be  continued  after  her  death  to  any  male  issue  she  may 
have  —  by  marriage.' ' 

Mr.  Hawkes  stopped,  and  once  again  looked  at  the 
strange  family.  Mrs.  Chichester  was  sobbing :  "  And 
me  —  his  own  sister  — " 

Alaric  was  moving  restlessly  about :  "  Beats  any- 
thing I've  heard  of.  Positively  anything." 

Ethel  was  looking  intently  at  "  Pet's  "  coat. 

Hawkes  continued :  " '  On  no  account  is  her  father 
to  be  permitted  to  visit  her,  and  should  the  course  of 
training  be  continued  after  the  first  year,  she  must  not 
on  any  account  visit  her  father.  After  she  reaches  the 
age  of  twenty-one  she  can  do  as  she  pleases.5'"  Mr. 
Hawkes  folded  up  the  will  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
finished  an  important  duty. 

Alaric  burst  out  with: 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  clause  interests  us  in  the  least? 
Mr.  Hawkes." 

The  lawyer  removed  his  pince-nez  and  looking  steadily 
at  Mrs.  Chichester  said: 

"  Now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Chichester,  it  was  Mr.  Kings- 
north's  wish  that  the  first  lady  to  be  approached  on  the 
matter  of  undertaking  the  training  of  the  young  lady 
should  be  —  you!  " 

Mrs.  Chichester  rose  in  astonishment :     "  I  ?  " 

Alaric  arose  in  anger:     "My  mother?" 

Ethel  quietly  pulled  "  Pet's  "  ear  and  waited. 

Mr.  Hawkes  went  on  quietly: 

"  Mr.  Kingsnorth  said,  '  he  would  be  sure  at  least  of 
his  niece  having  a  strict  up-bringing  in  the  best  traditions 
of  the  Kingsnorths,  and  that  though  his  sister  Monica 
was  somewhat  narrow  and  conventional  in  ideas  ' —  I  use 
his  own  words  — '  still  he  felt  sure  she  was  eminently 


172  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

fitted  to  undertake  such  a  charge.'  There  —  you  have 
the  wkole  object  of  my  visit.  Now  —  will  you  under- 
take the  training  of  the  young  lady  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing ! "  cried  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester  furiously. 

"  Ridiculous  !  "  said  Ethel  calmly. 

"  Tush  and  nonsense,"  with  which  Alaric  dismissed 
the  whole  matter. 

"  Then  I  may  take  it  you  refuse  ?  "  queried  the  as- 
tonished lawyer. 

"  Absolutely !  "  from  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"Entirely!  "from  Ethel. 

"  I  should  say  so ! "  and  Alaric  brought  up  the  rear. 

Mr.  Hawkes  gathered  up  his  papers  and  in  a  tone  of 
regret  ventured :  "  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  be 
said.  I  was  only  carrying  out  the  dead  man's  wishes  by 
coming  here  and  making  the  facts  known  to  you.  Mr. 
Kingsnorth  was  of  the  opinion  that  you  were  well 
provided  for  and,  that,  outside  of  the  sentimental  reason 
that  the  girl  was  your  own  niece,  the  additional  thousand 
pounds  a  year  might  be  welcome  as,  say,  pin-money  for 
your  daughter." 

Ethel  laughed  her  dry,  cheerless  little  laugh.  "  Ha ! 
Pin-money ! " 

Alaric  grew  suddenly  grave  and  drew  his  mother  and 
sister  out  of  Mr.  Hawkes'  vicinity. 

"  Listen,  mater  —  Ethel.  It's  a  cool  thousand,  you 
know?  Thousands  don't  grow  on  raspberry  bushes 
when  your  bank's  gone  up.  What  do  ye  think,  eh  ?  " 

Mrs.  Chichester  brightened: 

"  It  would  keep  things  together,"  she  said. 

"  The  wolf  from  the  door,"  urged  Alaric. 

"  No  charity,"  chimed  in  Ethel. 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  from  daughter  to  son. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  17S 

"Well?     What  do  you  think?" 

"  Whatever  you  say,  mater,"  from  Alaric. 

"  You  decide,  mamma,"  from  Ethel. 

"  We  might  try  it  for  a  while,  at  least,"  said  Mrs. 
Chichester. 

"  Until  we  can  look  around,"  agreed  Alaric. 

"  Something  may  be  saved  from  the  wreck,"  reasoned 
Mrs.  Chichester  more  hopefully. 

"  Until  I  get  really  started,"  said  Alaric  with  a  sense 
of  climax. 

Mrs.  Chichester  turned  to  her  daughter:     "Ethel?" 

"  Whatever  you  decide,  mamma." 

Mrs.  Chichester  thought  a  moment  —  then  decided : 
"I'll  do  it,"  she  said  determinedly.  "It  will  be  hard, 
but  I'll  do  it."  She  went  slowly  and  deliberately  to  Mr. 
Hawkes,  who  by  this  time  had  disposed  of  all  his  docu- 
ments and  was  preparing  to  go.  A  look  in  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester's  face  stopped  him.  He  smiled  at  her. 

"Well?"  he  asked. 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  memory  of  my  dead  sister,  I  will 
do  as  Nathaniel  wished,"  said  Mrs.  Chichester  with  great 
dignity  and  self-abnegation. 

Mr.  Hawkes  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Good!"  he  said.  "I'm  delighted.  It  is  splendid. 
Now  that  you  have  decided  so  happily  there  is  one  thing 
more  I  must  tell  you.  The  young  lady  is  not  to  be  told 
the  conditions  of  the  will,  unless  at  the  discretion  of  the 
executors  should  some  crisis  arise.  She  will  be  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  —  your  guest.  In  that  way  W€ 
may  be  able  to  arrive  at  a  more  exact  knowledge  of  her 
character.  Is  that  understood?  " 

The  family  signified  severally  and  collectively  that  it 
was. 

"  And  now,"  beamed  the  lawyer,  happy  at  the  fortu- 


174  PEG  O>  MY  HEART 

nate  outcome  of  a  situation  that  a  few  moments  before 
seemed  so  strained,  "  where  is  your  bell?  " 

Alaric  indicated  the  bell. 

"  May  I  ring?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Alaric. 

Mr.  Hawkes  rang. 

Alaric  watched  him  curiously :  "  Want  a  sandwich 
or  something?  " 

Hawkes  smiled  benignly  on  the  unfortunate  family  and 
rubbed  his  hands  together  self-satisfiedly : 

"  Now  I  would  like  to  send  for  the  young  lady  —  the 
heiress." 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  She  arrived  from  New  York  this  morning  and  I 
brought  her  straight  here.  I  had  to  call  on  a  client,  so  I 
gave  her  your  address  and  told  her  to  come  here  and 
wait" 

At  the  word  "  wait  "  an  uneasy  feeling  took  possession 
of  Ethel.  That  was  the  word  used  by  that  wretched- 
looking  little  creature  who  had  so  rudely  intruded  upon 
her  and  Brent.  Could  it  be  possible  —  ? 

The  footman  entered  at  that  moment. 

The  lawyer  questioned  him. 

"  Is  there  a  young  lady  waiting  for  Mr.  Hawkes  ?  " 

"  A  young  lady,  sir?      No,  sir,"  answered  Jarvis. 

Mr.  Hawkes  was  puzzled.  What  in  the  world  had 
become  of  her?  He  told  the  cabman  distinctly  where  to 
go. 

Jarvis  opened  the  cloor  to  go  out,  when  a  thought  sud- 
denly occurred  to  him.  He  turned  back  and  spoke  to 
the  lawyer: 

"  There's  a  young  person  sitting  in  the  kitchen :  came 
up  and  knocked  at  the  door  and  said  she  had  to  wait 
until  a  gentleman  called.  Can't  get  nothin'  out  of  her." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  175 

Hawkes  brightened  up. 

"  That  must  be  Miss  O'Connell,"  he  said.  He  turned 
to  Mrs.  Chichester  and  asked  her  if  he  might  bring  the 
young  lady  in  there. 

"  My  niece  in  the  kitchen ! "  said  Mrs.  Chichester  to 
the  unfortunate  footman.  "  Surely  you  should  know  the 
difference  between  my  niece  and  a  servant ! " 

"  I  am  truly  sorry,  madam,"  replied  Jarvis  in  distress, 
"  but  there  was  nothing  to  tell." 

"  Another  such  mistake  and  you  can  leave  my  employ- 
ment," Mrs.  Chichester  added  severely. 

Jarvis  pleaded  piteously: 

"  Upon  my  word,  madam,  no  one  could  tell." 

"  That  will  do,"  thundered  Mrs.  Chichester.  "  Bring 
my  niece  here  —  at  once." 

The  wretched  Jarvis  departed  on  his  errand  muttering 
to  himself :  "  Wait  until  they  see  her.  Who  in  the 
world  could  tell  she  was  their  relation." 

Mrs.  Chichester  was  very  angry. 

"  It's  monstrous  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Stoopid !  "  agreed  Alaric.     "  Doocid  stoopid." 

Ethel  said  nothing.  The  one  thought  that  was  pass- 
ing through  her  mind  was :  "  How  much  did  that  girl 
hear  Brent  say  and  how  much  did  she  see  Mr.  Brent  do?  " 

Hawkes  tried  to  smooth  the  misunderstanding  out. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was  all  my  fault,"  he  explained.  "  I 
told  her  not  to  talk.  To  just  say  that  she  was  to  wait. 
I  wanted  to  have  an  opportunity  to  explain  matters  be- 
fore introducing  her." 

"  She  should  have  been  brought  straight  to  me,"  com- 
plained Mrs.  Chichester.  "  The  poor  thing."  Then 
with  a  feeling  of  outraged  pride  she  said :  "  My  niece  in 
the  kitchen.  A  Kingsnorth  mistaken  for  a  servant !  " 

The   door   opened    and   Jarvis    came   into  the    room. 


176  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

There  was  a  look  of  half-triumph  on  his  face  as  much  as 
to  say :  "  Now  who  would  not  make  a  mistake  like  that  ? 
Who  could  tell  this  girl  was  your  niece?  " 

He  beckoned  Peg  to  come  into  the  room. 

Then  the  Chichester  family  received  the  second  shock 
they  had  experienced  that  day  —  one  compared  with 
which  the  failure  of  the  bank  paled  into  insignificance. 
When  they  saw  the  strange,  shabby,  red-haired  girl  slouch 
into  the  room,  with  her  parcels  and  that  disgraceful-look- 
ing dog,  they  felt  the  hand  of  misfortune  had  indeed  fallen 
upon  them. 


CHAPTER  V 

PEG    MEETS    HER    AUNT 

As  Peg  wandered  into  the  room  Mrs.  Chichester  and 
Alaric  looked  at  her  in  horrified  amazement. 

Ethel  took  one  swift  glance  at  her  and  then  turned  her 
attention  to  "  Pet." 

Jarvis  looked  reproachfully  at  Mrs.  Chichester  as  much 
as  to  say :  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  and  went  out. 

Alaric  whispered  to  his  mother: 

"  Oh,  I  say,  really,  you  know  —  it  isn't  true !  It  can't 
be." 

"  Pet  "  suddenly  saw  "  Michael  "  and  began  to  bark 
furiously  at  him.  "  Michael  "  responded  vigorously  until 
Peg  quieted  him. 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Hawkes  came  forward  and,  taking 
Peg  gently  by  the  arm,  reassured  her  by  saying: 

"  Come  here,  my  dear.  Come  here.  Don't  be  fright- 
ened. We're  all  your  friends." 

He  brought  Peg  over  to  Mrs.  Chichester,  who  was 
staring  at  her  with  tears  of  mortification  in  her  eyes. 
When  Peg's  eyes  met  her  aunt's  she  bobbed  a  little  curtsey 
she  used  to  do  as  a  child  whenever  she  met  a  priest  or 
some  of  the  gentle  folk. 

Mrs.  Chichester  went  cold  when  she  saw  the  gauche 
act.  Was  it  possible  that  this  creature  was  her  sister 
Angela's  child?  It  seemed  incredible. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  she  asked  sternly. 

"  Peg,  ma'am." 

"What?" 

177 


178  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Sure  me  name's  Peg,  ma'am,"  and  she  bobbed  another 
little  curtsey. 

Mrs.  Chichester  closed  her  eyes  and  shivered.  She 
asked  Alaric  to  ring.  As  that  young  gentleman  passed 
Ethel  on  his  way  to  the  bell  he  said :  "  It  can't  really 
be  true!  Eh,  Ethel?" 

"  Quaint,"  was  all  his  sister  replied. 

Hawkes  genially  drew  Peg's  attention  to  her  aunt  by 
introducing  her: 

"  This  lady  is  Mrs.  Chichester  —  your  aunt."  Peg 
looked  at  her  doubtfully  a  moment  then  turned  to  Hawkes 
and  asked  him : 

"  Where's  me  uncle  ?  " 

"  Alas  I  my  dear  child,  your  uncle  is  dead." 

"  Dead !  "  exclaimed  Peg  in  surprise.  "  Af  ther  sendin* 
forme?" 

"  He  died  just  before  you  sailed,"  added  Hawkes. 

"  God  rest  his  soul,"  said  Peg  piously.  "  Sure  if  I'd 
known  that  I'd  never  have  come  at  all.  I'm  too  late, 
then.  Good  day  to  yez,"  and  she  started  for  the  door. 

Mr.  Hawkes  stopped  her. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Back  to  me  father." 

"  Oh,  nonsense." 

"  But  I  must  go  back  to  me  father  if  me  uncle's 
dead," 

"  It  was  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  last  wish  that  you  should 
stay  here  under  your  aunt's  care.  So  she  has  kindly 
consented  to  give  you  a  home." 

Peg  gazed  at  Mrs.  Chichester  curiously. 

"  Have  yez  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Chichester,  with  despair  in  every  tone,  replied: 
"I  have!" 

"  Thank  yez,"  said  Peg,  bobbing  another  little  curtsey.. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  179 

at  which  Mrs.  Chichester  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand 
as  if  to  shut  out  some  painful  sight. 

Peg  looked  at  Mrs.  Chichester  and  at  the  significant 
action.  There  was  no  mistaking  its  significance.  It  con- 
veyed dislike  and  contempt  so  plainly  that  Peg  felt  it 
through  her  whole  nature.  She  turned  to  Alaric  and 
found  him  regarding  her  as  though  she  were  some  strange 
animal.  Ethel  did  not  deign  to  notice  her.  And  this 
was  the  family  her  father  had  sent  her  over  to  England 
to  be  put  in  amongst.  She  whispered  to  Hawkes : 

"  I  can't  stay  here." 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  I'd  be  happier  with  me  father,"  said  Peg. 

"  Nonsense.     You'll  be  quite  happy  here.     Quite." 

"  They  don't  seem  enthusiastic  about  us,  do  they  ?  " 
and  she  looked  down  at  "  Michael  "  and  up  at  Hawkes 
and  indicated  the  Chichester  family,  who  had  by  this  time 
all  turned  their  backs  on  her.  She  smiled  a  wan, 
lonely  smile,  and  with  a  little  pressure  on  "  Michael's  " 
back,  murmured:  "  We're  not  wanted  here,  '  Michael!' ' 

The  terrier  looked  up  at  her  and  then  buried  his  head 
under  her  arm  as  though  ashamed. 

Jarvis  came  in  response  to  the  ring  at  that  moment, 
bearing  a  pained,  martyr-like  expression  on  his  face. 

Mrs.  Chichester  directed  him  to  take  away  Peg's  parcels 
and  the  dog. 

Peg  frightenedly  clutched  the  terrier. 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am,"  she  pleaded.  "  Plaze  lave 
'  Michael '  with  me.  Don't  take  him  away  from  me." 

"  Take  it  away,"  commanded  Mrs.  Chichester  severely, 
"  and  never  let  it  inside  the  house  again." 

"  Well,  if  ye  don't  want  him  inside  yer  house  ye  don't 
want  me  inside  yer  house,"  Peg  snapped  back. 

Hawkes  interposed.     "  Oh,  come,  come,  Miss  O'Connell, 


180  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

you  can  see  the  little  dog  whenever  you  want  to,"  and  he 
tried  to  take  "  Michael "  out  of  her  arms.  "  Come,  let 
me  have  him." 

But  Peg  resisted.     She  was  positive  when  she  said : 

"  No,  I  won't  give  him  up.  I  won't.  I  had  a  hard 
enough  time  gettin'  him  ashore,  I  did." 

Hawkes  pleaded  again. 

"  No ! "  said  Peg  firmly.  "  I  imU  not  give  him  up. 
And  that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

The  lawyer  tried  again  to  take  the  dog  from  her: 
"  Come,  Miss  O'Connell,  you  really  must  be  reasonable." 

"  I  don't  care  about  being  reasonable,"  replied  Peg. 
*  Michael '  was  given  to  me  by  me  father  an'  he's  not 
very  big  and  he's  not  a  watchdog,  he's  a  pet  dog  —  and 

look "  She  caught  sight  of  Ethel's  little  poodle 

and  with  a  cry  of  self- justification,  she  said: 

"  See,  she  has  a  dog  in  the  house  —  right  here  in  the 
house.  Look  at  it !  "  and  she  pointed  to  where  the  little 
ball  of  white  wool  lay  sleeping  on  Ethel's  lap.  Then  Peg 
laughed  heartily :  "  I  didn't  know  what  it  was  until  it 
moved" 

Peg  finally  weakened  under  Mr.  Hawkes'  powers  of 
persuasion  and  on  the  understanding  that  she  could  see 
him  whenever  she  wanted  to,  permitted  the  lawyer  to 
take  '*  Michael "  out  of  her  arms  and  give  him  to  the 
disgusted  footman,  who  held  him  at  arm's  length  in 
mingled  fear  and  disgust. 

Then  Hawkes  took  the  bag  and  the  parcels  and  handed 
them  also  to  Jarvis.  One  of  them  burst  open,  disclosing 
her  father's  parting  gifts.  She  kept  the  rosary  and  the 
miniature,  and  wrapping  up  the  others  carefully  she 
placed  them  on  the  top  of  the  other  articles  in  the  out- 
raged Jarvis 's  arms,  and  then  gave  him  her  final  in  June- 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  181 

tions.  Patting  "  Michael "  on  the  head  she  said  to  the 
footman : 

"  Ye  won't  hurt  him,  will  ye?  "  "  Michael  "  at  that 
stage  licked  her  hand  and  whined  as  though  he  knew  they 
were  to  be  separated.  Peg  comforted  him  and  went  on : 
"  And  I'd  be  much  obliged  to  ye  if  ye'd  give  him  some 
wather  and  a  bone.  He  loves  mutton  bones." 

Jarvis,  with  as  much  dignity  as  he  could  assume,  con- 
sidering that  he  had  one  armful  of  shabby  parcels  and 
the  other  hand  holding  at  arm's  length  a  disgraceful  look- 
ing mongrel,  went  out,  almost  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

Peg  looked  down  and  found  Alaric  sitting  at  a  desk 
near  the  door  staring  at  her  in  disgust. 

He  was  such  a  funny  looking  little  fellow  to  Peg  that 
she  could  not  feel  any  resentment  toward  him.  His  sleek 
well-brushed  hair;  his  carefully  creased  and  admirably- 
ccut  clothes ;  his  self-sufficiency ;  and  above  all  his  absolute 
assurance  that  whatever  he  did  was  right,  amused  Peg 
immensely.  He  was  an  entirely  new  type  of  young  man 
to  her  and  she  was  interested.  She  smiled  at  him  now 
in  a  friendly  way  and  said :  "  Ye  must  know  '  Micliael ' 
is  simply  crazy  about  mutton.  He  loves  mutton." 

Alaric  turned  indignantly  away  from  her.  Peg  fol- 
lowed him  up.  He  had  begun  to  fascinate  her.  She 
looked  at  his  baby-collar  with  a  well-tied  bow  gleaming 
from  the  centre ;  at  his  pointed  shoes ;  his  curious,  little, 
querulous  look.  He  was  going  to  be  good  fun  for  Peg. 
She  wanted  to  begin  at  once.  And  site  would  have  too, 
had  not  the  icy  accents  of  Mrs.  Chichester  interrupted 
Peg's  plans  for  the  moment. 

"  Come  here,"  called  Mrs.  Chichester. 

Peg  walked  over  to  her  and  when  she  got  almost  be- 
side the  old  lady  she  turned  to  have  another  glimpse  at 


182  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Alaric  and  gave  him  a  little,  chuckling,  good-natured 
laugh. 

"  Look  at  me!"  commanded  Mrs.   Chichester  sternly. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Peg,  with  a  little  curtsey. 
Mrs.  Chichester  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  What 
was  to  be  done  with  this  barbarian?  Why  should  this 
affliction  be  thrust  upon  her?  Then  she  thought  of  the 
thousand  pounds  a  year.  She  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  severely  at  Peg. 

"  Don't  call  me  '  ma'am  '/  "  she  said. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  replied  Peg  nervously,  then  instantly 
corrected  herself:  "  No,  ant!  No,  ant!  *' 

"  Awnt!  "  said  Mrs.  Chichester  haughtily.  "  Aunt. 
Not  ant." 

Alaric  commented  to  Ethel: 

"  Ant!     Like  some  little  crawly  insect." 

Peg  heard  him,  looked  at  him  and  laughed.  He  cer- 
tainly was  odd.  Then  she  looked  at  Ethel,  then  at  Mr. 
Hawkes,  then  all  round  the  room  as  if  she  missed  some- 
one. Finally  she  faced  Mrs.  Chichester  again. 

"Are  you  me  Uncle  Nat's  widdy?" 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  contradicted  the  old  lady  sharply. 

"  Then  how  are  you  me  —  aunt?  "  demanded  Peg. 

"  I  am  your  mother's  sister,"  replied  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Oh!  "  cried  Peg.     "  Then  your  name's  Monica?  " 

"  It  is." 

"  What  do  ye  think  of  that?  "  said  Peg  under  her 
breath.  She  surreptitiously  opened  out  the  miniature 
and  looked  at  it,  then  she  scrutinised  her  aunt.  She 
shook  her  head. 

"  Ye  don't  look  a  bit  like  me  poor  mother  did." 

"  What  have  you  there? "  asked  Mrs.   Chichester. 

"  Me  poor  mother's  picture,"  replied  Peg  softly. 

"  Let  me  see  it ! "  and  Mrs.  Chichester  held  out  her 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  18§ 

hand  for  it.  Peg  showed  it  to  Mrs.  Chichester,  all  the 
while  keeping  a  jealous  hold  on  a  corner  of  the  frame. 
No  one  would  ever  take  it  away  from  her.  The  old  lady 
looked  at  it  intently.  Finally  she  said: 

"  She  had  changed  very  much  since  I  last  saw  her  — 
and  in  one  year." 

"  Sorrow  and  poverty  did  that,  Aunt  Monica,"  and 
the  tears  sprang  unbidden  into  Peg's  eyes. 

"  Aunt  will  be  quite  sufficient.  Put  it  away,"  and 
Mrs.  Chichester  released  the  miniature. 

Peg  hid  it  immediately  in  her  bosom. 

M  Sit  down,"  directed  the  old  lady  in  the  manner  of  a 
judge  preparing  to  condemn  a  felon. 

Peg  sprawled  into  a  chair  with  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Thank  ye,  ant  —  aunt,'*  she  said.  Then  she  looked 
at  them  all  alternately  and  laughed  heartily: 

"  Sure  I  had  no  idea  in  the  wurrld  I  had  such  fine 
relations.  Although  of  course  my  father  often  said  to 
me,  *  Now,  Peg,'  he  would  say,  *  now,  Peg,  ye've  got  some 
grand  folks  on  yer  mother's  side ' — " 

"  Folks !     Really  —  Ethel ! "  cried  Alaric  disgustedly. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  he  said.  Grand  folks  on  me  moth- 
er's side." 

Mrs.  Chichester  silenced  Peg. 

"  That  will  do.  Don't  sprawl  in  that  way.  Sit  up. 
Try  and  remember  where  you  are.  Look  at  your 
cousin,"  and  the  mother  indicated  Ethel.  Peg  sat  up 
demurely  and  looked  at  Ethel.  She  chuckled  to  herself 
as  she  turned  back  to  Mrs.  Chichester: 

"  Is  she  me  cousin  ?  " 

"  She  is,"  replied  the  mother. 

"  And  7  am  too,"  said  Alaric.     "  Cousin  Alaric." 

Peg  looked  him  all  over  and  laughed  openly.  Then 
she  turned  to  Ethel  again,  and  then  looked  all  around  the 


184*  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

room  and  appeared  quite  puzzled.  Finally  she  asked 
Mrs.  Chichester  the  following  amazing  question : 

"  Where's  her  husband  ?  " 

Ethel  sprang  to  her  feet.  The  blow  was  going  to 
fall.  She  was  to  be  disgraced  before  her  family  by  that 
beggar-brat.  It  was  unbearable. 

Mrs.  Chichester  said  in  astonishment :  "  Her  'hus- 
band? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Peg  insistently.  "  I  saw  her  husband 
when  I  came  in  here  first.  I've  been  in  this  room  before, 
ye  know.  I  came  in  through  those  windows  and  I  saw 
her  and  her  husband,  she  was — " 

"  What  in  heaven's  name  does  she  mean? "  cried 
Alaric. 

Peg  persisted :  "  I  tell  ye  it  was  she  sent  me  to  the 
kitchen  —  she  and  him." 

"Him?  Who  in  the  world  does  she  mean?"  from 
Alaric. 

"To  whom  does  she  refer,  Ethel?"  from  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester. 

"  Mr.  Brent,"  said  Ethel  with  admirable  self-control. 
She  was  on  thin  ice,  but  she  must  keep  calm.  Nothing 
may  come  out  yet  if  only  she  can  sflence  that  little  chat- 
terbox. 

Alaric  burst  out  laughing. 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  relieved. 

Peg  went  on: 

"  Sure,  she  thought  I  was  a  servant  looking  for  a  place 
and  Mr.  Hawkes  told  me  not  to  say  a  word  until  he  came 
—  and  I  didn't  say  a  word — " 

Mr.  Hawkes  now  broke  in  and  glancing  at  his  watch 
said: 

"  My  time  is  short.  Miss  O'Connell,  it  was  your 
uncle's  wish  that  you  should  make  your  home  here  with 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  185 

Mrs.  Chichester.  She  will  give  you  every  possible  ad- 
vantage to  make  you  a  happy,  well-cared  for,  charming 
young  lady." 

Peg  laughed. 

"Lady?     Me?     Sure  now—" 

The  lawyer  went  on: 

"  You  must  do  everything  she  tells  you.  Try  and 
please  her  in  all  things.  On  the  first  day  of  every 
month  I  will  call  and  find  out  what  progress  you're  mak- 
ing." 

He  handed  Mrs.  Chichester  a  card: 

"  This  is  my  business  address  should  you  wish  to  com- 
municate with  me.  And  now  I  must  take  my  leave." 
He  picked  up  his  hat  and  cane  from  the  table. 

Peg  sprang  up  breathlessly  and  frightenedly.  Now 
that  Mr.  Hawkes  was  going  she  felt  deserted.  He  had 
at  least  been  gentle  and  considerate  to  her.  She  tugged 
at  his  sleeve  and  looked  straight  up  into  his  face  with  her 
big  blue  eyes  wide  open  and  pleaded: 

"  Plaze,  sir,  take  me  with  ye  and  send  me  back  to  New 
York.  I'd  rather  go  home.  Indade  I  would.  I  don't 
want  to  be  a  lady.  I  want  me  father.  Plaze  take  me 
with  you." 

"  Oh  —  come  —  come  — "  Mr.  Hawkes  began. 

"  I  want  to  go  back  to  me  father.  Indade  I  do." 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  He  mightn't  like  me  to  stay 
here  now  that  me  uncle's  dead." 

"  Why,  it  was  your  uncle's  last  wish  that  you  should 
come  here.  Your  father  will  be  delighted  at  your  good 
fortune."  He  gently  pressed  her  back  into  the  chair 
and  smiled  pleasantly  and  reassuringly  down  at  her. 

Just  when  he  had  negotiated  everything  most  satis- 
factorily to  have  Peg  endeavour  to  upset  it  all  was  most 
disturbing.  He  went  on  again: 


186 

"  Your  aunt  will  do  everything  in  her  power  to  make 
you  feel  at  home.  Won't  you,  Mrs.  Chichester?  " 

"  Everything ! "  said  Mrs.  Chichester,  as  if  she  were 
walking  over  her  own  grave. 

Peg  looked  at  her  aunt  ruefully:  her  expression  was 

.  most  forbidding :  at  Ethel's  expressive  back ;  lastly  at 

Alaric  fitting  a   cigarette  into   a  gold-mounted  holder. 

Her  whole  nature  cried  out  against  them.     She  made 

one  last  appeal  to  Mr.  Hawkes : 

"  Do  send  me  back  to  me  father !  " 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  Miss  O'Connell.  You  would  not 
disappoint  your  father  in  that  way,  would  you?  Wait 
for  a  month.  I'll  call  on  the  first  and  I  expect  to  hear 
only  the  most  charming  things  about  you.  Now,  good- 
bye," and  he  took  her  hand. 

She  looked  wistfully  up  at  him: 

"  Good-bye,  sir.  And  thank  ye  very  much  for  bein* 
so  kind  to  me." 

Hawkes  bowed  to  Mrs.  Chichester  and  Ethel  and  went 
to  the  door. 

"  Have  a  cab  ?  "  asked  Alaric. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  I  have  no 
luggage.  Like  the  walk.  Good-day,"  and  Peg's  only 
friend  in  England  passed  out  and  left  her  to  face  this 
terrible  English  family  alone. 

"  Your  name  is  Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  Chichester,  as 
the  door  closed  on  Mr.  Hawkes. 

"  No,  ma'am  — "  Peg  began,  but  immediately  corrected 
herself ;  "  no,  aunt  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  no  aunt  — 
my  name  is  Peg,"  cried  she  earnestly. 

"  That  is  only  a  corruption.  We  will  call  you  Mar- 
garet," insisted  Mrs.  Chichester,  dismissing  the  subject 
once  and  for  all. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  187 

But  Peg  was  not  to  be  turned  so  lightly  aside.  She 
stuck  to  her  point. 

"  I  wouldn't  know  myself  as  Margaret  —  indade  I 
wouldn't.  I  might  forget  to  answer  to  the  name  of  Mar- 
garet." She  stopped  her  pleading  tone  and  said  de- 
terminedly :  "  My  name  is  Peg."  Then  a  little  softer 
and  more  plaintively  she  added :  "  Me  father  always 
calls  me  Peg.  It  would  put  me  in  mind  of  me  father  if 
you'd  let  me  be  called  Peg,  aunt."  She  ended  her  plea 
with  a  little  yearning  cry. 

"  Kindly  leave  your  father  out  of  the  conversation," 
snapped  the  old  lady  severely. 

"  Then  it's  all  I  will  lave  him  out  of ! "  cried  Peg, 
springing  up  and  confronting  the  stately  lady  of  the 
house. 

Mrs.  Chichester  regarded  her  in  astonishment  and 
anger. 

"  No  temper,  if  you  please,"  and  she  motioned  Peg  to 
resume  her  seat. 

Poor  Peg  sat  down,  breathing  hard,  her  fingers  locking 
and  unlocking,  her  staunch  little  heart  aching  for  the 
one  human  being  she  was  told  not  to  refer  to. 

This  house  was  not  going  to  hold  her  a  prisoner  if  her 
father's  name  was  to  be  slighted  or  ignored ;  on  that  point 
she  was  determined.  Back  to  America  she  would  go  if 
her  father's  name  was  ever  insulted  before  her. 

Mrs.  Chichester's  voice  broke  the  silence: 

"  You  must  take  my  daughter  as  your  model  in  all 
things." 

Peg  looked  at  Ethel  and  all  her  anger  vanished  tem- 
porarily. The  idea  of  taking  that  young  lady  as  a 
model  appealed  to  her  as  being  irresistibly  amusing.  She 
smiled  broadly  at  Ethel. 


188  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Mrs.  Chichester  went  on: 

"  Everything  my  daughter  does  you  must  try  and  imi- 
tate. You  could  not  have  a  better  example.  Mould 
yourself  on  her." 

"  Imitate  her,  is  it?  "  asked  Peg  innocently  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye  and  the  suggestion  of  impishness  in 
her  manner. 

"  So  far  as  lies  in  your  power,"  replied  Mrs.  Chichester. 

A  picture  of  Ethel  struggling  in  Brent's  arms  sud- 
denly flashed  across  Peg,  and  before  she  could  restrain 
herself  she  had  said  in  exact  imitation  of  her  cousin: 

"  Please  don't !     It  is  so  hot  this  morning !  " 

Then  Peg  laughed  loudly  to  Ethel's  horror  and  Mrs. 
Chichester's  disgust. 

"  How  dare  you  1 "  cried  her  aunt. 

Peg  looked  at  her  a  moment,  all  the  mirth  died  away. 

"  Mustn't  I  laugh  in  this  house  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  have  a  great  deal  to  learn." 

"  Yes,  aunt." 

"Your  education  will  begin  to-morrow." 

"  Sure  that  will  be  foine,"  and  she  chuckled. 

"  No  levity,  if  you  please,"  said  her  aunt  severely. 

"  No,  aunt." 

"  Until  some  decent  clothes  can  be  procured  for  you 
•we  will  find  some  from  my  daughter's  wardrobe." 

"  Sure  I've  a  beautiful  dhress  in  me  satchel  I  go  to 
Mass  in  on  Sundays.  It's  all  silk,  and — " 

Mrs.  Chichester  stopped  her: 

"That  will  do.     Ring,  Alaric,  please." 

As  Alaric  walked  over  to  press  the  electric  button  he 
looked  at  Peg  in  absolute  disgust  and  entire  disapproval. 
Peg  caught  the  look  and  watched  him  go  slowly  across 
the  room.  He  had  the  same  morbid  fascination  for  her 
that  some  uncanny  elfish  creature  might  have.  If  only 


'Sure  that  thing  could  never  be  President  of  the 
United  States" 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  189 

her  father  could  see  him !  She  mentally  decided  to  sketch 
Alaric  and  send  it  out  to  her  father  with  a  full  descrip- 
tion of  him. 

Mrs.  Chichester  again  demanded  her  attention. 

"  You  must  try  and  realise  that  you  have  an  oppor- 
tunity few  girls  in  your  position  are  ever  given.  I  only 
hope  you  will  try  and  repay  our  interest  and  your  late 
uncles  wishes  by  obedience,  good  conduct  and  hard 
study." 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  said  Peg  demurely.  Then  she  added 
quickly :  "  I  hope  ye  don't  mind  me  not  having  worn 
me  silk  dress,  but  ye  see  I  couldn't  wear  it  on  the  steamer 
—  it  'ud  have  got  all  wet.  Ye  have  to  wear  yer  thrav- 
ellin'  clothes  when  ye're  thravellin'.  " 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Mrs.  Chichester  sharply. 

"  Well,  but  I  don't  want  ye  to  think  me  father  doesn't 
buy  me  pretty  clothes.  He's  very  proud  of  me,  an'  I  am 
of  him  —  an' — " 

"  That  will  do,"  commanded  Mrs.  Chichester  as  Jarvis 
came  in  reply  to  the  bell. 

"  Tell  Bennett  to  show  my  niece  to  the  Mauve  Room 
and  to  attend  her,"  said  Mrs.  Chichester  to  the  footman. 
Then  turning  to  Peg  she  dismissed  her. 

«  Go  with  him." 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  replied  Peg.  "  An'  I  am  goin'  to  thry 
and  do  everythin  ye  want  me  to.  I  will,  indade  I  will." 

Her  little  heart  was  craving  for  some  show  of  kind- 
ness. If  she  was  going  to  stay  there  she  would  make  the 
best  of  it.  She  would  make  some  friendly  advances  to 
them.  She  held  her  hand  out  to  Mrs.  Chichester: 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  very  grateful  to  you  for  taking  me  to 
live  with  yez  here.  An'  me  father  will  be  too.  But  ye 
see  it's  all  so  strange  to  me  here,  an'  I'm  so  far  away  — 
an'  I  miss  me  father  so  much."" 


190  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Mrs.  Chichester,  ignoring  the  outstretched  hand, 
stopped  her  peremptorily: 

"  Go  with  him !  "  and  she  pointed  up  the  stairs,  on  the 
first  landing  of  which  stood  the  portly  Jarvis  waiting  to 
conduct  Peg  out  of  the  family's  sight. 

Peg  dropped  a  little  curtsey  to  Mrs.  Chichester,  smiled 
at  Ethel,  looked  loftily  at  Alaric,  then  ran  up  the  stairs 
and,  following  the  footman's  index  finger  pointing  the 
way,  she  disappeared  from  Mrs.  Chichester's  unhappy 
gaze. 

The  three  tortured  people  looked  at  each  other  in  dis- 
may. 

"  Awful !  "  said  Alaric. 

"  Terrible  I "  agreed  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"Dreadful!"  nodded  Ethel. 

"  It's  our  unlucky  day,  mater ! "  added  Alaric. 

"  One  thing  is  absolutely  necessary,"  Mrs.  Chichester 
went  on  to  say,  "  she  must  be  kept  away  from  every  one 
for  the  present." 

"  I  should  say  so !  "  cried  Alaric  energetically.  Sud- 
denly he  ejaculated:  "Good  Lord!  Jerry!  He 
mustn't  see  her.  He'd  laugh  his  head  off  at  the  idea  of 
my  having  a  relation  like  her.  He'll  probably  run  in  to 
lunch." 

"  Then  she  must  remain  in  her  room  until  he's  gone," 
said  Mrs.  Chichester,  determinedly.  "  I'll  go  into  town 
now  and  order  some  things  for  her  and  see  about  tutors. 
She  must  be  taught  and  at  once." 

"  Why  put  up  with  this  annoyance  at  all  ?  "  asked 
Ethel,  for  the  first  time  showing  any  real  interest. 

Mrs.  Chichester  put  her  arm  around  Ethel  and  a  gentle 
look  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  said : 

"  One  thousand  pounds  a  year  —  that  is  the  reason  — 
and  rather  than  you  or  Alaric  should  have  to  make  any 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  191 

sacrifice,  dear,  or  have  any  discomfort,  I  would  put  up 
with  worse  than  that." 

Ethel  thought  a  moment  before  she  replied  reflectively : 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  would.  I  wouldn't,"  and  she 
went  up  the  stairs.  When  she  was  little  more  than  half 
way  up  Alaric,  who  had  been  watching  her  nervously, 
called  to  her: 

"  Where  are  you  off  to,  Ethel?  " 

She  looked  down  at  him  and  a  glow,  all  unsuspected, 
came  into  her  eyes  and  a  line  of  colour  ran  through  her 
cheeks,  and  there  was  an  unusual  tremor  in  her  voice, 
as  she  replied: 

"  To  try  to  make  up  my  mind,  if  I  can,  about  some- 
thing. The  coming  of  Peg  may  do  it  for  me." 

She  went  on  out  of  sight. 

Alaric  was  half-inclined  to  follow  her.  He  knew  she 
was  taking  their  bad  luck  to  heart  withal  she  said  so  lit- 
tle. He  was  really  quite  fond  of  Ethel  in  a  selfish,  broth- 
erly way.  But  for  the  moment  he  decided  to  let  Ethel 
worry  it  out  alone  while  he  would  go  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion and  meet  his  friend's  train.  He  called  to  his  mother 
as  she  passed  through  the  door: 

"  Wait  a  minute,  mater,  and  I'll  go  with  you  as  far 
as  the  station-road  and  see  if  I  can  head  Jerry  off.  His 
train  is  almost  due  if  it's  punctual." 

He  was  genuinely  concerned  that  his  old  chum  should 
not  meet  that  impossible  little  red-headed  Irish  heathen 
whom  an  unkind  fate  had  dropped  down  in  their  midst. 

At  the  hall-door  Mrs.  Chichester  told  Jarvis  that  her 
niece  was  not  to  leave  her  room  without  permission. 

As  Mrs.  Chichester  and  Alaric  passed  out  they  little 
dreamt  that  the  same  relentless  fate  was  planning  still 
further  humiliations  for  the  unfortunate  family  and 
through  the  new  and  unwelcome  addition  to  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JEEB.T 

PEG  was  shown  by  the  maid,  Bennett,  into  a  charming 
old-world  room  overlooking  the  rose  garden.  Every- 
thing about  it  was  in  the  most  exquisite  taste.  The 
furniture  was  of  white  and  gold,  the  vases  of  Sevres,  a 
few  admirable  prints  on  the  walls  and  roses  everywhere. 

Left  to  her  reflections,  poor  Peg  found  herself  wonder- 
ing how  people,  with  so  much  that  was  beautiful  around 
them,  could  live  and  act  as  the  Chichester  family  appar- 
ently did.  They  seemed  to  borrow  nothing  from  their 
once  illustrious  and  prosperous  dead.  They  were,  it 
would  appear,  only  concerned  with  a  particularly  near 
present. 

The  splendour  of  the  house  awed  —  the  narrowness  of 
the  people  irritated  her.  What  an  unequal  condition  of 
things  where  such  people  were  endowed  with  so  much 
of  the  world's  goods,  while  her  father  had  to  struggle  all 
his  life  for  the  bare  necessities ! 

She  had  heard  her  father  say  once  that  the  only  value 
money  had,  outside  of  one's  immediate  requirements,  was 
to  be  able  to  relieve  other  people's  misery :  and  that  if  we 
just  spent  it  on  ourselves  money  became  a  monster  that 
stripped  life  of  all  happiness,  all  illusion,  all  love  —  and 
made  it  just  a  sefish  mockery  of  a  world! 

How  wonderfully  true  her  father's  diagnosis  was ! 

Here  was  a  family  with  everything  to  make  them  happy 
—  yet  none  of  them  seemed  to  breathe  a  happy  breath, 
think  a  happy  thought,  or  know  a  happy  hour. 

The  maid  had  placed  Peg's  scanty  assortment  of  ar- 

192 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  193 

tides  on  the  dressing-table.  They  looked  so  sadly  out 
of  place  amid  the  satin-lined  boxes  and  perfumed  draw- 
ers that  Peg  felt  another  momentary  feeling  of  shame. 
Since  her  coming  into  the  house  she  had  experienced  a 
series  of  awakenings.  She  sturdily  overcame  the  feeling 
and  changed  her  cheap  little  travelling  suit  for  one  of 
the  silk  dresses  her  father  had  bought  her  in  New  York. 
By  the  time  she  had  arranged  her  hair  with  a  big  pink 
ribbon  and  put  on  the  precious  brown  silk  garment  she 
began  to  feel  more  at  ease.  After  all,  who  were  they  to 
intimidate  her?  If  she  did  not  like  the  house  and  the 
people,  after  giving  them  a  fair  trial,  she  would  go  back 
to  New  York.  Very  much  comforted  by  the  reflection 
and  having  exhausted  all  the  curious  things  in  the  little 
Mauve-Room  she  determined  to  see  the  rest  of  the  house. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  met  the  maid  Ben- 
nett. 

"  Mrs.  Chichester  left  word  that  you  were  not  to  leave 
your  room  without  permission.  I  was  just  going  to  tell 
you,"  said  Bennett. 

All  Peg's  independent  Irish  blood  flared  up.  What 
would  she  be  doing  shut  up  in  a  little  white-and-gold  room 
all  day?  She  answered  the  maid  excitedly: 

"  Tell  Mrs.  CJii-ster  I  am  not  goin'  to  do  anythin'  of 
the  kind.  As  long  as  I  stay  in  this  house  I'll  see  every 
bit  of  it !  "  and  she  swept  past  the  maid  down  the  stairs 
into  the  same  room  for  the  third  time. 

"  You'll  only  get  me  into  trouble,"  cried  the  maid. 

"  No,  I  won't.  I  wouldn't  get  you  into  trouble  for 
the  wurrld.  I'll  get  all  the  trouble  and  I'll  get  it  now." 
Peg  ran  across,  opened  the  door  connecting  with  the  hall 
and  called  out  at  the  top  of  her  voice: 

"  Aunt !  Cousins !  Aunt !  Come  here,  I  want  to  tell 
ye  about  meself  I  " 


194  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  They've  all  gone  out,"  said  the  maid  quickly. 

"  Then  what  are  ye  makin'  such  a  fuss  about  ?  You 
go  out  too." 

She  watched  the  disappointed  Bennett  leave  the  room 
and  then  began  a  tour  of  inspection.  She  had  never  seen 
se  many  strange  things  outside  of  a  museum. 

Fierce  men  in  armour  glared  at  her  out  of  massive 
frames :  old  gentlemen  in  powdered  wigs  smiled  pleasantly 
at  her ;  haughty  ladies  in  breath-bereaving  coiffures  stared 
superciliously  right  through  her.  She  felt  most  uncom- 
fortable in  such  strange  company. 

She  turned  from  the  gallery  and  entered  the  living 
room.  Everything  about  it  was  of  the  solid  Tudor  days 
and  bespoke,  even  as  the  portraits,  a  period  when  the 
family  must  have  been  of  some  considerable  importance. 
She  wandered  about  the  room  touching  some  things  tim- 
idly —  others  boldly.  For  example  —  on  the  piano  she 
found  a  perfectly  carved  bronze  statuette  of  Cupid.  She 
gave  a  little  elfish  cry  of  delight,  took  the  statuette  in 
her  arms  and  kissed  it. 

"  Cupid !  me  darlin'.  Faith,  it's  you  that  causes  all 
the  mischief  in  the  wurrld,  ye  divil  ye ! "  she  cried. 

All  her  depression  vanished.  She  was  like  a  child 
again.  She  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  played  the  simple 
refrain  and  sang  in  her  little  girlish  tremulous  voice,  one 
of  her  father's  favourite  songs,  her  eyes  on  Cupid: 

"  Oh !  the  days  are  gone  when  Beauty  bright 

My  heart's  charm  wove! 

When  my  dream  of  life,  from  morn  till  night, 
Was  love,  still  love! 
New  hope  may  bloom, 
And  days  may  come, 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam, 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  195 

But  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  Love's  young  dream ! 
No,  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  Love's  young  dream." 

As  she  let  the  last  bars  die  away  and  gave  Cupid  a  lit- 
tle caress,  and  was  about  to  commence  the  next  verse  a 
vivid  flash  of  lightning  played  around  the  room,  followed 
almost  immediately  by  a  crash  of  thunder. 

Peg  cowered  down  into  a  deep  chair. 

All  the  laughter  died  from  her  face  and  the  joy  in  her 
heart.  She  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  knelt  down  and 
prayed  to  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows. 

By  this  time  the  sky  was  completely  leaden  in  hue  and 
the  rain  was  pouring  down. 

Again  the  darkening  room  was  lit  up  by  a  vivid  forked 
flash  and  the  crash  of  the  thunder  came  instantly.  The 
storm  was  immediately  overhead.  Peg  closed  her  eyes, 
as  she  did  when  a  child,  while  her  lips  moved  in  prayer. 

Into  the  room  through  the  window  came  a  young  man, 
his  coat-collar  turned  up,  rain  pouring  from  his  hat;  in- 
side his  coat  was  a  terrified-looking  dog.  The  man  came 
well  into  the  room,  turning  down  the  collar  of  his  coat; 
and  shaking  the  moisture  from  his  clothes,  when  he  sud- 
denly saw  the  kneeling  figure  of  Peg.  He  looked  down  at 
her  in  surprise.  She  was  intent  on  her  prayers. 

"Hello!"  cried  the  young  man.     "Frightened,  eh?" 

Peg  looked  up  and  saw  him  staring  down  at  her  with  a 
smile  on  his  lips.  Inside  his  coat  was  her  precious  little 
dog,  trembling  with  fear.  The  terrier  barked  loudly 
when  he  saw  his  mistress.  Peg  sprang  up,  clutched 
"  Michael "  away  from  the  stranger,  just  as  another 
blinding  flash  played  around  the  room  followed  by  a 
deafening  report. 


196  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Peg  ran  across  to  the  door  shouting  :  "  Shut  it  out  ! 
Shut  it  out  !  "  She  stood  there  trembling,  covering  her 
eyes  with  one  hand,  with  the  other  she  held  on  to  the 
overjoyed  "  Michael,"  who  was  whining  with  glee  at  see- 
ing her  again. 

The  amazed  and  amused  young  man  closed  the  win- 
dows and  the  curtains.  Then  he  moved  down  toward 
Peg. 

"  Don't  come  near  the  dog,  sir.  Don't  come  near  it  !  " 
She  opened  a  door  and  found  it  led  into  a  little  reception 
room.  She  fastened  "  Michael  "  with  a  piece  of  string 
to  a  chair  in  the  room  and  came  back  to  look  again  at 
the  stranger,  who  had  evidently  rescued  her  dog  from  the 
storm.  He  was  a  tall,  bronzed,  athletic-looking,  broad 
shouldered  young  man  of  about  twenty-six,  with  a  pleas- 
ant, genial,  magnetic  manner  and  a  playful  humour  lurk- 
ing in  his  eyes. 

As  Peg  looked  him  all  over  she  found  that  he  was 
smiling  down  at  her. 

"  Does  the  dog  belong  to  you?  "  he  queried. 

"  What  were  you  doin'  with  him  ?  "  she  asked  in  re- 


"  1  found  him  barking  at  a  very  high-spirited  mare." 

"  Mare?  "  cried  Peg.     "  Where?  " 

"  Tied  to  the  stable-door." 

"The  stable-door?  Is  that  where  they  put 
'Michael'?"  Once  again  the  lightning  flashed  vividly 
and  the  thunder  echoed  dully  through  the  room. 

Peg  shivered. 

The  stranger  reassured  her. 

"  Don*t  be  frightened.     It's  only   a  summer  storm." 

"  Summer  or  winter,  they  shrivel  me  up,"  gasped  Peg. 

The  young  man  walked  to  the  windows  and  drew  back 
the  curtains. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  197 

"  Come  and  look  at  it,"  he  said  encouragingly. 
"  They're  beautiful  in  this  part  of  the  country.  Come 
and  watch  it." 

"  I'll  not  watch  it !  "  cried  Peg.     "  Shut  it  out !  " 

Once  more  the  young  man  closed  the  curtains. 

Peg  looked  at  him  and  said  in  an  awe-struck  voice: 

"  They  say  if  ye  look  at  the  sky  when  the  lightnin* 
comes  ye  can  see  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  An'  the  sight 
of  it  blinds  some  and  kills  others  —  accordin'  to  the  state 
of  grace  ye're  in.' 

"You're  a  Catholic?"  said  the  stranger. 

"  What  else  would  I  be  ?  "  asked  Peg  in  surprise. 

Again  the  lightning  lit  the  room  and,  after  some  sec- 
onds, came  the  deep  rolling  of  the  now  distant  thunder. 

Peg  closed  her  eyes  again   and  shivered. 

"  Doesn't  it  seem  He  is  angry  with  us  for  our  sins  ?  '* 
she  cried. 

"  With  me,  perhaps  —  not  with  you,"  answered  the 
stranger. 

"  What  do  ye  mane  by  that  ?  "  asked  Peg. 

"  You  don't  know  what  sin  is,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"  And  who  may  you  be  to  talk  to  me  like  that  ?  "  de- 
manded Peg. 

"  My  name  is  Jerry,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Jerry?  "  and  Peg  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Yes.     What  is  yours?" 

"  Peg !  "  and  there  was  a  sullen  note  of  fixed  determi- 
nation in  her  tone. 

"  Peg,   eh  ?  "   and  the   stranger  smiled. 

She  nodded  and  looked  at  him  curiously.  What  a 
strange  name  he  had  —  Jerry!  She  had  never  heard 
such  a  name  before  associated  with  such  a  distinguished- 
looking  man.  She  asked  him  again  slowly  to  make  cer- 
tain she  had  heard  aright. 


198  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

"  Jerry,  did  ye  say  ?  " 

"  Just  plain  Jerry,"  he  answered  cheerfully.  "  And 
you're  Peg." 

She  nodded  again  with  a  quick  little  smile :  "  Just 
plain  Peg." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I 
think  you  are  very  charming." 

"  Ye  mustn't  say  things  like  that  with  the  thundher 
and  lightnin'  outside,"  answered  Peg,  frowning. 

"  I  mean  it,"  from  the  man  who  called  himself 
"  Jerry." 

"  No,  ye  don't  mane  it,"  said  Peg  positively.  "  The 
man  who  manes  them  things  never  sez  them.  My  father 
always  told  me  to  be  careful  of  the  fellow  that  sez  flat- 
therm'  things  right  to  yer  face.  '  He's  no  good,  Peg,9 
my  father  sez ;  *  He's  no  good.5 ' 

Jerry  laughed  heartily. 

"  Your  father  is  right,  only  his  doctrine  hardly  ap- 
plies in  this  instance.  I  didn't  mean  it  as  flattery.  Just 
a  plain  statement  of  fact." 

After  a  pause  he  went  on :     "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  me  aunt's  niece,"  replied  Peg,  looking  at  him 
furtively. 

Jerry  laughed  again. 

"  And  who  is  your,  aunt?  " 

"Mrs.   Chi-ster." 

"Whom?" 

Poor  Peg  tried  again  at  the  absurd  tongue-tying  name. 

"  My  aunt  is  Mrs.  Chi-sister." 

"  Mrs.  Chichester?  "  asked  Jerry  in  surprise. 

"  That's  it,"  said  Peg. 

"  How  extraordinary !  " 

"  Isn't  it?  Ye  wouldn't  expect  a  fine  lady  like  her  to 
have  a  niece  like  me,  would  ye  ?  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  199 

"  That  isn't  what  I  meant,"  corrected  Jerry. 

"  Yes,  it  is  what  ye  meant.  Don't  tell  untruths  with 
the  storm  ragin'  outside,"  replied  Peg. 

"  I  was  thinking  that  I  don't  remember  Alaric  ever 
telling  me  that  he  had  such  a  charming  cousin." 

"  Oh,  do  you  know  Alaric  ?  "  asked  Peg  with  a  quick 
smile. 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Jerry. 

Peg's  smile  developed  into  a  long  laugh. 

"  And  why  that  laugh  ?  "  queried  Jerry. 

"  I'd  like  me  father  to  see  Alaric.  I'd  like  him  just  to 
see  Alaric  for  one  minnit." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes,  indade.  Ye  know  Alaric,  do  ye?  —  isn't  it 
funny  how  the  name  suits  him?  —  Alaric!  there  are  very 
few  people  a  name  like  that  would  get  along  with  —  but 
it  fits  him  all  right  —  doesn't  it  ?  Well,  he  didn't  know 
I  was  alive  until  I  dropped  down  from  the  clouds  this 
mornin'." 

"  Where  did  you  drop  from  ?  " 

"  New  York." 

"Really?     How  odd." 

"  Not  at  all.  It's  nearly  as  big  as  London  and  there's 
nothin'  odd  about  New  York." 

"  Were  you  born   there  ?  "   asked   Jerry. 

"  I  was,"  answered  Peg. 

"By  way  of  old  Ireland,  eh?" 

"  How  did  ye  guess  that  ?  "  queried  Peg,  not  quite  cer- 
tain whether  to  be  pleased  or  angry. 

"  Your  slight  —  but  delightful  accent,"  replied  Jerry. 

"Accent  is  it?"  and  Peg  looked  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment. "  Sure  I've  no  accent.  I  just  speak  naturally. 
It's  you  have  the  accent  to  my  way  of  thinkin'." 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  the  amused  Jerry. 


200  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Peg  imitated  the  young  man's  well-bred,  polished  tone : 

"Wah  ye  bawn  theah?  " 

Jerry  laughed  immoderately.  Who  was  this  extraor- 
dinary little  person?  was  the  one  thought  that  was  in 
his  mind. 

"  Plow  would  you  say  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'd  say  it  naturally.  I  would  say :  '  Were  ye  borrn 
there?  '  I  wouldn't  twist  the  poor  English  language  any 
worse  than  it  already  is." 

Peg  had  enough  of  the  discussion  and  started  off  on 
another  expedition  of  discovery  by  standing  on  a  chair 
and  examining  some  china  in  a  cabinet. 

Jerry  turned  up  to  the  windows  and  drew  back  the 
curtains,  threw  the  windows  wide  open  and  looked  up  at 
the  sky.  It  was  once  more  a  crystal  blue  and  the  sun 
was  shining  vividly. 

He  called  to  Peg :  "  The  storm  is  over.  The  air  is 
clear  of  electricity.  All  the  anger  has  gone  from  the 
heavens.  See? " 

Peg  said  reverently :     "  Praise  be  to  God  for  that." 

Then  she  went  haphazardly  around  the  room  examin- 
ing everything,  sitting  in  various  kinds  of  chairs,  on  the 
sofa,  smelling  the  flowers  and  wherever  she  went  Jerry 
followed  her,  at  a  little  distance. 

*  Are  you  going  to  stay  here  ?  "  he  reopened  the  con- 
versation with. 

"  Mebbe  I  will  and  mebbe  I  won't,"  was  Peg's  some- 
what unsatisfactory  answer. 

"  Did  your  aunt  send  for  you  ?  " 

"  No  —  me  uncle." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Yes,  indade ;  me  Uncle  Nat." 

"  Nat?  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  201 

"  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth  —  rest  his  soul." 

"  Nathaniel  Kingsnorth ! "  cried  Jerry  in  amazement. 

Peg  nodded. 

"  Sleepin'  in  his  grave,  poor  man." 

"  Why,   then  you're   Miss  Margaret   O'Connell?  " 

"  I  am.     How  did  ye  know  ihatl  " 

"  I  was  with  your  uncle  when  he  died." 

"Were  ye?" 

"  He  told  me  all  about  you." 

"  Did  he  ?  Well,  I  wish  the  poor  man  'ud  ha'  lived. 
An'  I  wish  he'd  a'  thought  o'  us  sooner.  He  with  all  his 
money  an'  me  father  with  none,  an'  me  his  sister's  only 
child." 

"  What  does  your  father  do  ?  " 

Peg  took  a  deep  breath  and  answered  eagerly.  She 
was  on  the  one  subject  about  which  she  could  talk  freely 
—  all  she  needed  was  a  good  listener.  This  strange  man, 
unlike  her  aunt,  seemed  to  be  the  very  person  to  talk  to 
on  the  one  really  vital  subject  to  Peg.  She  said  breath- 
lessly : 

"  Sure  me  father  can  do  anythin'  at  all  —  except  make 
money.  An'  when  he  does  make  it  he  can't  kape  it. 
He  doesn't  like  it  enough.  Nayther  do  I.  We've  never 
had  very  much  to  like,  but  we've  seen  others  around  us 
with  plenty  an'  faith  we've  been  the  happiest  —  that  we 
have." 

She  only  stopped  to  take  breath  before  on  she  went 
again : 

"  There  have  been  times  when  we've  been  most  starvin', 
but  me  father  never  lost  his  pluck  or  his  spirits.  Nay- 
ther did  I.  When  times  have  been  the  hardest  I've  never 
heard  a  word  of  complaint  from  me  father,  nor  seen  a 
frown  on  his  face.  An'  he's  never  used  a  harsh  word  to 


202  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

me  in  me  life.  Sure  we're  more  like  boy  and  girl  together 
than  father  and  daughther."  Her  eyes  began  to  fill 
and  her  voice  to  break: 

"  An'  I'm  sick  for  the  sight  of  him.  An'  I'm  sure  he  is 
for  me  —  for  his  *  Peg  o'  my  Heart,'  as  he  always  calls 
me." 

She  covered  her  eyes  as  the  tears  trickled  down  through 
her  fingers.  Under  her  breath  Jerry  heard  her  say- 
ing: 

"  I  wish  I  was  back  home  —  so  I  do." 

He  was  all  compassion  in  a  moment.  Something  in 
the  loneliness  and  staunchness  of  the  little  girl  appealed 
to  him. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  he  said  softly,  as  he  felt  the  moisture 
start  into  his  own  eyes. 

Peg  unpinned  her  little  handkerchief  and  carefully 
wiped  away  her  tears  and  just  as  carefully  folded  the 
handkerchief  up  again  and  pinned  it  back  by  her  side. 

"  I  don't  cry  often,"  she  said.  "  Me  father  never 
made  me  do  it.  I  never  saw  him  cry  but  twice  in  his  life 
—  once  when  he  made  a  little  money  and  we  had  a  Mass 
said  for  me  mother's  soul,  an'  we  had  the  most  beautiful 
candles  on  Our  Lady's  altar.  He  cried  then,  he  did. 
And  when  I  left  him  to  come  here  on  the  ship.  And 
then  only  at  the  last  minnit.  He  laughed  and  j  oked  with 
me  all  the  time  we  were  together  —  but  when  the  ship 
swung  away  from  the  dock  he  just  broke  down  and  cried 
like  a  little  child.  *  My  Peg ! '  he  kep'  sayin' ;  '  My 
little  Peg! '  I  tell  ye  I  wanted  to  jump  off  that  ship  an* 
go  back  to  him  —  but  we'd  started  —  an'  I  don't  know 
how  to  swim." 

How  it  relieved  her  pent-up  feelings  to  talk  to  some 
one  about  her  father!  Already  she  felt  she  had  known 
Jerry  for  years.  In  a  moment  she  went  on  again: 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  203 

"  I  cried  meself  to  sleep  that  night,  I  did.  An'  many 
a  night,  too,  on  that  steamer. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  come  here  —  that  I  didn't.  I  only 
did  it  to  please  me  father.  He  thought  it  'ud  be  for  me 
good. 

"  An'  I  wish  I  hadn't  come  —  that  I  do.  He's  missin' 
me  every  minnit  —  an'  I'm  missin'  him.  An'  I'm  not 
goin'  to  be  happy  here,  ayther. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  a  lady.  An'  they  won't  make  me 
one  ayther  if  I  can  help  it.  '  Ye  can't  make  a  silk  purse 
out  of  a  sow's  ear,'  that's  what  me  father  always  said. 
An'  that's  what  I  am.  I'm  a  sow's  ear." 

She  stopped, —  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

Jerry  was  more  than  moved  at  this  entirely  human  and 
natural  outbreak.  It  was  even  as  looking  into  some 
one's  heart  and  brain  and  hearing  thoughts  spoken  aloud 
and  seeing  the  nervous  workings  of  the  heart.  When 
she  described  herself  in  such  derogatory  terms,  a  smile  of 
relief  played  on  Jerry's  face  as  he  leaned  over  to  her 
and  said: 

"  I'm  afraid  I  cannot  agree  with  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  said  indifferently :  "  It 
doesn't  make  the  slightest  bit  of  difference  to  me  whether 
ye  do  or  not.  That's  what  I  am.  I'm  a  sow's  ear." 

He  reasoned  with  her: 

"  When  the  strangeness  wears  off  you'll  be  very 
happy." 

"  Do  yez  know  the  people  here  —  the  Chi-sters  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     Very  well." 

"  Then  what  makes  ye  think  I'll  be  happy  among 
them?" 

"  Because  you'll  know  that  you're  pleasing  your 
father." 

"  But  I'm  all  alone." 


204  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

"  You're  among  friends." 

Peg  shook  her  head  and  said  bitterly :  "  No,  I'm  not. 
They  may  be  me  relations,  but  they're  not  me  friends. 
They're  ashamed  of  me." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  interrupted  Jerry. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  contradicted  Peg.  "  I  tell  ye  they  are 
ashamed  of  me.  They  sent  me  to  the  kitchen  when  I 
first  came  here.  And  now  they  put  *  Michael  '  to  slape 
in  the  stable.  I  want  ye  to  understand  *  Michael '  is  not 
used  to  that.  He  always  sleeps  with  me  father." 

She  was  s»  unexpected  that  Jerry  found  himself  on 
the  verge  of  tears  one  moment,  and  the  next  something  she 
would  say,  some  odd  look  or  quaint  inflection  would  com- 
pel his  laughter  again.  He  had  a  mental  picture  of 
"  Michael,"  the  pet  of  Peg's  home,  submitting  to  the  in- 
dignity of  companionship  with  mere  horses.  Small 
wonder  he  was  snapping  at  Ethel's  mare,  when  Jerry 
discovered  him. 

He  turned  again  to  Peg  and  said: 

"  When  they  really  get  to  know  you,  Miss  O'Connell, 
they  will  be  just  as  proud  of  you  as  your  father  is  —  as 
—  I  would  be." 

Peg  looked  at  him  in  whimsical  astonishment: 
"  You'd  be?  Why  should  you  be  proud  of  me?  " 

"  I'd  be  more  than  proud  if  you'd  look  on  me  as  your 
friend." 

"  A  friend  is  it  ?  "  cried  Peg  warily.  "  Sure  I  don't 
know  who  you  are  at  all,"  and  she  drew  away  from  him. 
She  was  on  her  guard.  Peg  made  few  friends.  Friend- 
ship to  her  was  not  a  thing  to  be  lightly  given  or  ac- 
cepted. Why,  this  man,  calling  himself  by  the  outlandish 
name  of  "  Jerry,"  should  walk  in  out  of  nowhere,  and 
offer  her  his  friendship,  and  expect  her  to  jump  at  it, 
puzzled  her.  It  also  irritated  her.  Who  was  he? 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  205 

Jerry  explained: 

"  Oh,  I  can  give  you  some  very  good  references. 
For  instance,  I  went  to  the  same  college  as  your  cousin 
Alaric." 

Peg  looked  at  him  in  absolute  disdain. 

"Did  ye?"  she  said.  "Well,  I'd  mention  that  to 
very  few  people  if  I  were  you,"  and  she  walked  away 
from  him.  He  followed  her. 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  be  your  friend?  " 

"  Sure  I  don't  know,"  Peg  answered  quickly.  "  I'm 
like  the  widdy's  pig  that  was  put  into  a  rale  bed  to  sleep. 
It  nayther  wanted  it,  nor  it  didn't  want  it.  The  pig 
had  done  without  beds  all  its  life,  and  it  wasn't  cryin'  its 
heart  out  for  the  loss  of  somethin'  it  had  never  had  and 
couldn't  miss." 

Jerry  laughed  heartily  at  the  evident  sincerity  of  the 
analogy. 

Peg  looked  straight  at  him :  "  I  want  to  tell  ye  that's 
one  thing  that's  in  yer  favour,"  she  said. 

"What  is?"  asked  Jerry. 

"  Sure,  laughter  is  not  dead  in  you,  as  it  is  in  every 
one  else  in  this  house." 

Whilst  Jerry  was  still  laughing,  Peg  suddenly  joined 
in  with  him  and  giving  him  a  playful  slap  with  the  back 
of  her  hand,  asked  him : 

"Who  are  ye  at  all?" 

"  No  one  in  particular,"  answered  Jerry  between  gasps. 

"  I  can  see  that,"  said  Peg  candidly.  "  I  mean  what 
do  ye  do  ?  " 

"  Everything  a  little  and  nothing  really  well,"  Jerry 
replied.  "  I  was  a  soldier  for  a  while :  then  I  took  a 
splash  at  doctoring:  read  law:  civil-engineered  in  South 
America  for  a  year:  now  I'm  farming." 

"  Farming?  "  asked  Peg  incredulously. 


206  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Yes.     I'm  a  farmer." 

Peg  laughed  as  she  looked  at  the  well-cut  clothes,  the 
languid  manner  and  easy  poise. 

"  It  must  be  mighty  hard  on  the  land  and  cattle  to  have 
you  farmin'  them,"  she  said. 

"  It  is,"  and  he  too  laughed  again.  "  They  resent 
my  methods.  I'm  a  new  farmer." 

"  Faith  ye  must  be." 

"  To  sum  up  my  career  I  can  do  a  whole  lot  of  things 
fairly  well  and  none  of  them  well  enough  to  brag  about." 

"  Just  like  me  father,"  she  said  interestedly. 

"  You  flatter  me,"  he  replied  courteously. 

Peg  thought  she  detected  a  note  of  sarcasm.  She 
turned  on  him  fiercely: 

"  I  know  I  do.  There  isn't  a  man  in  the  whole  wurrld 
like  me  father.  Not  a  man  in  the  wurrld.  But  he  says 
he's  a  rollin'  stone  and  they  don't  amount  to  much  in  a 
hard-hearted  wurrld  that's  all  for  makin'  dollars," 

"  Your  father  is  right,"  agreed  Jerry.  "  Money  is 
the  standard  to-day  and  we're  all  valued  by  it." 

"  And  he's  got  none,"  cried  Peg.  Thoughts  were 
coming  thick  and  fast  through  her  little  brain.  To 
speak  of  her  father  was  to  want  to  be  near  him.  And  she 
wanted  him  there  now  for  that  polished,  well-bred  gen- 
tleman to  see  what  a  wonderful  man  he  was.  She  sud- 
denly said: 

"  Well,  he's  got  me.  I've  had  enough  of  this  place. 
I'm  goin'  home  now."  She  started  up  the  staircase  lead- 
ing to  the  Mauve  Room. 

Jerry  called  after  her  anxiously: 

"No,  no!     Miss  O'Connell.     Don't  go  like  that." 

"  I  must,"  said  Peg  from  the  top  of  the  stairs. 
"  What  will  I  get  here  but  to  be  laughed  at  and  j  eered 
at  by  a  lot  of  people  that  are  not  fit  to  even  look  at  me 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  207 

father.  Who  are  they  I'd  like  to  know  that  I  mustn't 
speak  his  name  in  their  presence?  I  love  me  father  and 
sure  it's  easier  to  suffer  for  the  want  of  food  than  the 
want  of  love !  " 

Suddenly  she  raised  one  hand  above  her  head  and  in 
the  manner  and  tone  of  a  public-speaker  she  astounded 
Jerry  with  the  following  outburst: 

"  An'  that's  what  the  Irish  are  doin'  all  over  the 
wurrld.  They're  driven  out  of  their  own  country  by 
the  English  and  become  wandherers  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  and  nothin'  they  ever  earn'll  make  up  to  them  for 
the  separation  from  their  homes  and  their  loved  ones ! " 
She  finished  the  peroration  on  a  high  note  and  with  a 
forced  manner  such  as  she  had  frequently  heard  on  the 
platform. 

She  smiled  at  the  astonished  Jerry  and  asked  him: 

"  Do  ye  know  what  that  is  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  he  answered  truthfully. 

"  That's  out  of  one  of  me  father's  speeches.  Me 
father  makes  grand  speeches.  He  makes  them  in  the 
Cause  of  Ireland." 

"Oh,  really!  In  the  Cause  of  Ireland,  eh?"  said 
Jerry. 

"  Yes.  He's  been  strugglin'  all  his  life  to  make  Ire- 
land free  —  to  get  her  Home  Rule,  ye  know.  But  the 
English  are  so  ignorant.  They  think  they  know  more 
than  me  father.  If  they'd  do  what  me  father  tells  them 
sure  there'd  be  no  more  throuble  in  Ireland  at  all." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Jerry,  quite  interestedly. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  throuble.  I  wish  me  father  was  here  to 
explain  it  to  ye.  He  could  tell  ye  the  whole  thing  in  a 
couple  of  hours.  I  wish  he  were  here  now  just  to  give 
you  an  example  of  what  fine  speakin'  really  is.  Do  you 
like  speeches  ?  " 


208  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Very  much  —  sometimes,"  replied  Jerry,  guardedly. 

"  Me  father  is  wondherful  on  a  platform  with  a  lot  o' 
people  in  front  of  him.  He's  wondherful.  I've  seen  him 
take  two  or  three  hundred  people  who  didn't  know  they 
had  a  grievance  in  the  wurrld  —  the  poor  cratures  — 
they  were  just  contented  to  go  on  bein'  ground  down  and 
trampled  on  and  they  not  knowing  a  thing  about  it 
—  I've  seen  me  father  take  that  crowd  and  in  five  minutes 
afther  he  had  started  spakin'  to  them  ye  wouldn't  know 
they  were  the  same  people.  They  were  all  shoutin'  at 
once,  and  they  had  murther  in  their  eye  and  it  was  blood 
they  were  afther.  They  wanted  to  reform  somethin' — 
they  weren't  sure  what  —  but  they  wanted  to  do  it  — 
an'  at  the  cost  of  life.  Me  father  could  have  led  them 
anywhere.  It's  a  wondherful  power  he  was.  And  mag- 
netism. He  just  looks  at  the  wake  wuns  an'  they  wilt. 
He  turns  to  the  brave  wuns  and  they're  ready  to  face 
cannon-balls  for  him.  He's  a  born  leader  —  that's  what 
he  is,  a  born  leader  I  "  She  warmed  to  her  sub j  ect :  she 
was  on  her  hobby-horse  and  she  would  ride  it  as  far  as 
this  quiet  stranger  would  let  her.  She  went  on  again : 

"  Ye  know  the  English  government  are  very  much 
frightened  of  me  father.  They  are  indade.  They  put 
him  in  prison  once  —  before  I  was  born.  They  were 
so  afraid  of  him  they  put  him  in  prison.  I  wish  ye  could 
see  him !  "  she  said  regretfully. 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  I  could  —  with  all  my  heart.  You 
have  really  aroused  my  keenest  interest,"  said  Jerry, 
gravely.  "  He  must  be  a  very  remarkable  man,"  he 
added. 

"  That's  what  he  is,"  agreed  Peg  warmly.  "  An'  a 
very  wondherful  lookin'  man,  too.  He's  a  big,  upstandin' 
man,  with  gold  hair  goin'  grey,  an'  a  flashin'  eye  an'  a 
great  magnetic  voice.  Everybody  sez  't's  the  magnetism 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 

in  him  that  makes  him  so  dangerous.  An'  he's  as  bold 
as  a  lion.  He  isn't  frightened  of  anybody.  He'll 
say  anything  right  to  your  face.  Oh,  I  wish  ye  could 
just  meet  him.  He's  not  afraid  to  make  any  kind  of  a 
speech  —  whether  it's  right  or  not,  so  long  as  it's  for  the 
'  Cause.'  Do  yez  like  hearin'  about  me  father? "  she 
asked  Jerry  suddenly,  in  case  she  was  tiring  him  —  al- 
though how  any  one  could  be  tired  listening  to  the  de- 
scription of  her  Hero  she  could  not  imagine. 

Jerry  hastened  to  assure  her  that  he  was  really  most 
interested. 

"  I  am  not  botherin'  ye  listening  am  I  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  Jerry  assured  her  again. 

"  Well,  so  long  as  yer  not  tired  I'll  tell  ye  some  more. 
Ye  know  I  went  all  through  Ireland  when  I  was  a  child 
with  me  father  in  a  cart.  An'  the  police  and  the  con- 
stabulary used  to  follow  us  about.  They  were  very 
frightened  of  me  father,  they  were.  They  were  grand 
days  for  me.  Ye  know  he  used  to  thry  his  speeches  on  me 
first.  Then  I'd  listen  to  him  make  them  in  public.  I 
used  to  learn  them  when  I'd  heard  them  often  enough.  I 
know  about  fifty.  I'll  tell  ye  some  of  them  if  I  ever  see 
ye  again.  Would  ye  like  to  hear  some  of  them?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  answered  Jerry. 

"  Well,  if  I  stay  here  ye  must  come  some  time  an'  I'll 
tell  ye  them.  But  it  is  not  the  same  hearin'  me  that  it  is 
hearin'  me  father.  Ye've  got  to  see  the  flash  of  his  eye 
an'  hear  the  big  sob  in  his  voice,  when  he  spakes  of  his 
counthry,  to  ralely  get  the  full  power  o'  them.  I'll  do 
me  best  for  ye,  of  course. 

"  Ye're  English,  mebbe?"  she  asked  him  suddenly. 

"  I  am,"  said  Jerry.  He  almost  felt  inclined  to  apolo- 
gise. 

"  Well,  sure  that's  not  your  fault.     Ye  couldn't  help 


210  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

it.  No  one  should  hold  that  against  ye.  We  can't  all 
be  born  Irish." 

"  I'm  glad  you  look  at  it  so  broad-mindedly,"  said 
Jerry. 

"  Do  ye  know  much  about  Ireland?  "  asked  Peg. 

"  Very  little,  I'm  ashamed  to  say,"  answered  Jerry. 

"  Well,  it  would  be  worth  yer  while  to  learn  somethin' 
about  it,"  said  Peg. 

"  I'll  make  it  my  business  to,"  he  assured  her. 

"  It's  God  country,  is  Ireland.  And  it's  many  a  tear 
He  must  have  shed  at  the  way  England  mismanages  it. 
But  He  is  very  lenient  and  patient  with  the  English. 
They're  so  slow  to  take  notice  of  how  things  really  are. 
And  some  day  He  will  punish  them  and  it  will  be  through 
the  Irish  that  punishment  will  be  meted  out  to  them." 
She  had  unconsciously  dropped  again  into  her  father's 
method  of  oratory,  climaxing  the  speech  with  all  the 
vigour  of  the  rising  inflection.  She  looked  at  Jerry,  her 
face  aglow  with  enthusiasm. 

"  That's  from  another  of  me  father's  speeches.  Did 
ye  notice  the  way  he  ended  it  ?  — '  through  the  Irish  that 
punishment  will  be  meted  out  to  them ! '  I  think  *  meted 
out '  is  grand.  I  tell  you  me  father  has  the  most  won- 
dherful  command  of  language." 

She  stood  restlessly  a  moment,  her  hands  beating  each 
other  alternately. 

"  I  get  so  lonesome  for  him,"  she  said. 

Suddenly  with  a  tone  of  definite  resolve  in  her  voice 
she  started  up  the  stairs,  calling  over  her  shoulder: 

"  I'm  goin'  back  to  him  now.  Good-bye ! "  and  she 
ran  all  the  way  upstairs. 

Jerry  followed  her  —  pleading  insistently : 

"  Wait !     Please  wait !  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 

She  stopped  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  and  looked  down 
at  him: 

"  Give  us  one  month's  trial  —  one  month !  "  he  urged. 
*'  It  will  be  very  little  out  of  your  life  and  I  promise 
you  your  father  will  not  suffer  through  it  except  in  los- 
ing you  for  that  one  little  month.  Will  you?  Just  a 
month?" 

He  spoke  so  earnestly  and  seemed  so  sincerely  pained 
and  so  really  concerned  at  her  going,  that  she  came  down 
a  few  steps  and  looked  at  him  irresolutely : 

"  Why  do  you  want  me  to  stay  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Because  —  because  your  late  uncle  was  my  friend. 
It  was  his  last  wish  to  do  something  for  you.  Will- you? 
Just  a  month?  " 

She  struggled  with  the  desire  to  go  away  from  all  that 
was  so  foreign  and  distasteful  to  her.  Then  she  looked 
at  Jerry  and  realised,  with  something  akin  to  a  feeling  of 
pleasure,  that  he  was  pleading  with  her  to  stay,  and  do- 
ing it  in  such  a  way  as  to  suggest  that  it  mattered  to 
him.  She  had  to  admit  to  herself  that  she  rather  liked 
the  look  of  him.  He  seemed  honest,  and  even  though 
he  were  English  he  did  show  an  interest  whenever  she 
spoke  of  her  father  and  he  had  promised  to  try  and  learn 
something  about  Ireland.  That  certainly  was  in  his 
favour  —  just  as  the  fact  that  he  could  laugh  was,  too. 

Quickly  the  thoughts  ran  hot-foot  through  Peg's 
brain:  After  all  to  run  away  now  would  look  cowardly. 
Her  father  would  be  ashamed  of  her.  This  stuck-up 
family  would  laugh  at  her.  That  thought  was  too  much. 
The  very  suggestion  of  Alaric  laughing  at  her  caused 
a  sudden  rush  of  blood  to  her  head.  Her  temples 
throbbed.  Instantly  she  made  up  her  mind. 

She  would  stay.     Turning  to  Jerry,  she  said : 


212  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  All  right,  then.  I'll  stay  —  a  month.  But  not  any 
more  than  a  month,  though !  " 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  it." 

"  I  won't  wish  it  —  I  promise  ye  that.  One  month'll 
be  enough  in  this  house.  It's  goin'  to  seem  like  a  life- 
time." 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Jerry,  smiling. 

"  Ye're  glad  it's  goin'  to  seem  like  a  life-time  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  he  corrected  her  hastily  ;  "  I  am  glad  you're 
going  to  stay." 

"  Well,  that's  a  comfort  anyway.  Some  one'll  be 
pleased  at  me  stayin'."  And  she  came  down  the  stairs 
and  walked  over  to  the  piano  again. 

Jerry  followed  her: 

"  I  am  —  immensely." 

"  All  right.  Ye've  said  it !  "  replied  Peg,  looking  up 
and  finding  him  standing  beside  her.  She  moved  away 
from  him.  Again  he  followed  her: 

"  And  will  you  look  on  me  as  your  friend  ?  " 

This  time  she  turned  away  abruptly.  She  did  not 
like  being  followed  about  by  a  man  she  had  only  just  met. 

"  There's  time  enough  for  that,"  she  said,  and  went 
across  to  the  windows. 

"Is  it  so  hard?"  pleaded  Jerry,  again  following  her. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it's  hard  or  aisy  until  I  thry 
it." 

"  Then  try,"  urged  Jerry,  going  quite  close  to  her. 

She  faced  him :  "  I  never  had  anyone  makin'  such  a 
fuss  about  havin'  me  for  a  friend  before.  I  don't  under- 
stand you  at  all." 

"  Yet  I'm  very  simple,"  said  Jerry. 

"  I  don't  doubt  ye,"  Peg  answered  drily.  "  From  what 
I've  heard  of  them  most  of  the  English  are  —  simple." 

He  laughed  and  held  out  his  hand. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 

"  What's  that  for?  "  she  asked  suspiciously. 

"  To  our  friendship." 

"  I  never  saw  the  likes  of  you  in  all  me  life." 

"  Come  —  Peg." 

"  I  don't   think  it's  necessary." 

"  Come ! " 

She  looked  into  his  eyes:  They  were  fixed  upon  her. 
Without  quite  knowing  why  she  found  herself  giving  him 
her  hand. 

He  grasped  it  firmly. 

"  Friends,  Peg?  "   " 

"  Not  yet  now,"  she  answered  half  defiantly,  half 
frightenedly. 

"  I'll  wager  we  will  be." 

"  Don't  put  much  on  it,  ye  might  lose." 

"  I'll  stake  my  life  on  it," 

"  Ye  don't  value  it  much,  then." 

"  More  than  I  did.  May  you  be  very  happy  amongst 
us,  Peg." 

A  door  slammed  loudly  in  the  distance.  Peg  distinctly 
heard  her  aunt's  voice  and  Alaric's.  In  a  moment  she 
became  panic-stricken.  She  made  one  bound  for  the 
stairs  and  sprang  up  them  three  at  a  time.  At  the  top 
she  turned  and  warned  him: 

"  Don't  tell  any  one  ye  saw  me." 

"  I  won't,"  promised  the  astonished  young  man. 

But  their  secret  was  to  be  short-lived. 

As  Peg  turned,  Ethel  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  stairs 
and  as  she  descended,  glaring  at  Peg,  the  unfortunate 
girl  went  down  backwards  before  her.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Chichester  and  Alaric  came  in  through  the 
door. 

They  all  greeted  Jerry  warmly. 

Mrs.  Chichester  was  particularly  gracious. 


"  So  sorry  we  were  out.     You  will  stay  to  lunch?  " 

"  It  is  what  I  came  for,"  replied  Jerry  heartily.  He 
slipped  his  arm  through  Alaric's  and  led  him  up  to  the 
windows : 

"  Why,  Al,  your  cousin  is  adorable ! "  he  said  en- 
thusiastically. 

"  What?  "  Alaric  gasped  in  horror.  "  You've  met 
her?  " 

"  Indeed  I  have.  And  we  had  the  most  delightful  time 
together.  I  want  to  see  a  great  deal  of  her  while  she's 
here." 

"You're  joking?"  remarked  Alaric  cautiously. 

"  Not  at  all.  She  has  the  frank  honest  grip  on  life 
that  I  like  better  than  anything  in  mankind  or  woman- 
kind. She  has  made  me  a  convert  to  Home  Rule  al- 
ready." 

The  luncheon-gong  sounded  in  the  distance.  Alaric 
hurried  to  the  door: 

"  Come  along,  every  one !     Lunch !  " 

"Thank  goodness,"  cried  Jerry,  joining  him.  "I'm 
starving." 

Peg  came  quietly  from  behind  the  newell  post,  where 
she  had  been  practically  hidden,  and  went  straight  to 
Jerry  and  smiling  up  at  him,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
amusement,  said: 

"  So  am  I  starvin'  too.  I've  not  had  a  bite  since 
six." 

"  Allow  me,"  and  Jerry  offered  her  his  arm. 

Mrs.  Chichester  quickly  interposed. 

"  My  niece  is  tired  after  her  journey.  She  will  lunch 
in  her  room." 

"Oh,  but  I'm  not  a  bit  tired,"  ejaculated  Peg  anx- 
iously. "  I'm  not  tired  at  all,  and  I'd  much  rather  have 
lunch  down  here  with  Mr.  Jerry." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  215 

The  whole  family  were  aghast. 

Ethel  looked  indignantly  at  Peg. 

Mrs.  Chichester  ejaculated:     "What?" 

Alaric,  almost  struck  dumb,  fell  back  upon :  "  Well, 
I  mean  to  say !  " 

"  And  you  shall  go  in  with  Mr.  Jerry,"  said  that  young 
gentleman,  slipping  Peg's  arm  through  his  own.  Turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Chichester  he  asked  her :  "  With  your  per- 
mission we  will  lead  the  way.  Come  —  Peg,"  and  he  led 
her  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

Peg  looked  up  at  him,  a  roguish  light  dancing  in  her 
big  expressive  eyes. 

"  Thanks.  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that  wager  of  yours. 
I  think  yer  life  is  safe.  I  want  to  tell  ye  ye've  saved 
mine."  She  put  one  hand  gently  on  her  little  stomach 
and  cried :  "  I  am  so  hungry  me  soul  is  hangin'  by  a 
thread." 

Laughing  gaily,  the  two  new-found  friends  went  in 
search  of  the  dining-room. 

The  Chichester  family  looked  at  each  other. 

It  seemed  that  the  fatal  first  day  of  June  was  to  be 
a  day  of  shocks. 

"  Disgraceful ! "  ventured  Ethel. 

"  Awful !  "  said  the  stunned  Alaric. 

"  She  must  be  taken  in  hand  and  at  once ! "  came  in 
firm  tones  from  Mrs.  Chichester.  "  She  must  never  be 
left  alone  again.  Come  quickly  before  she  can  disgrace 
us  any  further  to-day." 

The  unfortunate  family,  following  in  the  wake  of  Peg 
and  Jerry,  found  them  in  the  dining-room  chattering  to- 
gether like  old  friends.  He  was  endeavouring  to  persuade 
Peg  to  try  an  olive.  She  yielded  just  as  the  family 
arrived.  She  withdrew  the  olive  in  great  haste  and  turn- 
ing to  Jerry  said: 


216  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Faith,  there's  nothin'  good  about  it  but  it's  colour !  " 
In  a  few  moments  she  sat  down  to  the  first  formal  meal 
in  the  bosom  of  the  Chichester  family. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    PASSING    OF    THE    FIRST    MONTH 

THE  days  that  followed  were  never-to-be-forgotten 
ones  for  Peg.  Her  nature  was  in  continual  revolt.  The 
teaching  of  her  whole  lifetime  she  was  told  to  correct. 
Everything  she  said,  everything  she  looked,  everything 
she  did  was  wrong. 

Tutors  were  engaged  to  prepare  her  for  the  position 
she  might  one  day  enjoy  through  her  dead  uncle's  will. 
They  did  not  remain  long.  She  showed  either  marked 
incapacity  to  acquire  the  slightest  veneer  of  culture  — 
else  it  was  pure  wilfulness. 

The  only  gleams  of  relief  she  had  were  on  the  occasions 
when  Jerry  visited  the  family.  Whenever  they  could 
avoid  Mrs.  Chichester's  watchful  eyes  they  would  chat 
and  laugh  and  play  like  children.  She  could  not  under- 
stand him  —  he  was  always  discovering  new  traits  in  her. 
They  became  great  friends. 

Her  letters  to  her  father  were,  at  first,  very  bitter,  re- 
garding her  treatment  by  the  family.  Indeed  so  resent- 
ful did  they  become  that  her  father  wrote  to  her  in  reply 
urging  her,  if  she  was  so  unhappy,  to  at  once  return  to 
him  on  the  next  steamer.  But  she  did  not.  Little  by 
little  the  letters  softened.  Occasionally,  toward  the  end 
of  that  first  month  they  seemed  almost  contented.  Her 
father  marvelled  at  the  cause. 

The  month  she  had  promised  to  stay  was  drawing  to 
an  end.  But  one  more  day  remained.  It  was  to  be  a 
memorable  one  for  Peg. 

Jerry  had  endeavoured  at  various  times  to  encourage 

217 


218  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

her  to  study.  He  would  question  her,  and  chide  her  and 
try  to  stimulate  her.  One  day  he  gave  her  a  large, 
handsomely-bound  volume  and  asked  her  to  read  it  at  odd 
times  and  he  would  examine  her  in  it  when  she  had  mas- 
tered its  contents.  She  opened  it  wonderingly  and  found 
it  to  be  "  Love  Stories  of  the  World." 

It  became  Peg's  treasure.  She  kept  it  hidden  from 
every  one  in  the  house.  She  made  a  cover  for  it  out  of 
a  piece  of  cloth  so  that  no  one  could  see  the  ornate  bind- 
ing. She  would  read  it  at  night  in  her  room,  by  day 
out  in  the  fields  or  by  the  sea.  But  her  favourite  time 
and  place  was  in  the  living-room,  every  evening  after 
dinner.  She  would  surround  herself  with  books  —  a 
geography,  a  history  of  England,  a  huge  atlas,  a  treatise 
on  simple  arithmetic  and  put  the  great  book  in  the  cen- 
tre,—  making  of  it  an  island  —  the  fount  of  knowledge. 
Then  she  would  devour  it  intently  until  some  one  dis- 
turbed her.  The  moment  she  heard  anyone  coming  she 
would  cover  it  up  quickly  with  the  other  books  and  pre- 
tend to  be  studying. 

The  book  was  a  revelation  to  her.  It  gave  all  her 
imagination  full  play.  Through  its  pages  treaded  a 
stately  procession  of  Kings  and  Queens  —  Wagnerian 
heroes  and  heroines:  Shakespearian  creations,  melodi- 
ous in  verse ;  and  countless  others.  It  was  indeed  a  treas- 
ure-house. It  took  her  back  to  the  lives  and  loves  of  the 
illustrious  and  passionate  dead,  and  it  brought  her  for 
the  first  time  to  the  great  fount  of  poetry  and  genius. 

Life  began  to  take  on  a  different  aspect  to  her. 

All  her  rebellious  spirit  would  soften  under  the  spell 
of  her  imagination;  and  again  all  her  dauntless  spirit 
would  assert  itself  under  the  petty  humiliations  the 
Chichester  family  frequently  inflicted  upon  her. 

Next  to  Mrs.  Chichester  she  saw  Alaric  the  most. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  219 

Although  she  could  not  actively  dislike  the  little  man 
her  first  feeling  of  amusement  wore  off.  He  simply 
bored  her  now.  He  was  no  longer  funny.  He  seemed 
of  so  little  account  in  the  world. 

She  saw  but  little  of  Ethel.  They  hardly  spoke  when 
they  met. 

All  through  the  month  Christian  Brent  was  a  frequent 
visitor. 

If  Peg  only  despised  the  Chichesters  she  positively 
loathed  Brent,  and  with  a  loathing  she  took  no  pains  to 
conceal. 

On  his  part,  Brent  would  openly  and  covertly  show 
his  admiration  for  her.  Peg  was  waiting  for  a  really 
good  chance  to  find  out  Mr.  Brent's  real  character.  The 
opportunity  came. 

On  the  night  of  the  last  day  of  the  trial-month,  Peg 
was  in  her  favourite  position,  lying  face  downward  on  a 
sofa,  reading  her  treasure,  when  she  became  conscious  of 
some  one  being  in  the  room  watching  her.  She  started 
up  in  a  panic  instinctively  hiding  the  book  behind  her. 
She  found  Brent  staring  down  at  her  in  open  admiration. 
Something  in  the  intentness  of  his  gaze  caused  her  to 
spring  to  her  feet.  He  smiled  a  sickly  smile. 

"The  book  must  be  absorbing.  What  is  it?"  he 
asked. 

Peg  faced  him,  the  book  clasped  in  both  of  her  hands 
behind  her  back ;  her  eyes  flashing  and  her  heart  throb- 
bing. Brent  looked  at  her  with  marked  appreciation : 

"You  mustn't  be  angry,  child.  What  is  it?  Eh? 
Something  -forbidden?  "  and  he  leered  knowingly  at  her. 
Then  he  made  a  quick  snatch  at  the  book,  saying: 

"  Show  it  me !  " 

Peg  ran  across  the  room  and  turning  up  a  corner  of 
the  carpet,  put  the  book  under  it,  turned  back  the  car- 


220  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

pet,  put  her  foot  determinedly  on  it  and  turned  again  to 
face  her  tormentor. 

Brent  went  rapidly  across  to  her.  The  instinct  of  the 
chase  was  quick  in  his  blood. 

"  A  hiding-place,  eh  ?  Now  you  make  me  really  cu- 
rious. Let  me  see."  He  again  made  a  movement  to- 
ward the  hidden  book. 

Peg  clenched  both  of  her  hands  into  little  fists  and 
glared  at  Brent,  while  her  breath  came  in  quick,  sharp 
gasps.  She  was  prepared  to  defend  the  identity  of  the 
book  at  any  cost. 

"  I  love  spirit !  "  cried  Brent. 

Then  he  looked  at  her  charming  dress ;  at  her  stylish 
coiffure ;  at  the  simple  spray  of  flowers  at  her  breast.  He 
gave  an  ejaculation  of  pleasure. 

"  What  a  wonderful  change  in  a  month.  You  most 
certainly  would  not  be  sent  to  the  kitchen  now.  Do  you 
know  you  have  grown  into  a  most  attractive  young  lady? 
You  are  really  delightful  angry.  And  you  are  angry, 
aren't  you?  And  with  me,  eh?  I'm  so  sorry  if  I've  of- 
fended you.  Let  us  kiss  and  be  friends."  He  made  an 
impulsive  movement  toward  her  and  tried  to  take  her  in 
his  arms.  Peg  gave  him  a  resounding  box  on  the  ear. 
With  a  muffled  ejaculation  of  anger  and  of  pain  he  at- 
tempted to  seize  her  by  the  wrists,  when  the  door  opened 
and  Ethel  came  into  the  room. 

Peg,  panting  with  fury,  glared  at  them  both  for  a  mo- 
ment and  then  hurried  out  through  the  windows. 

Brent,  gaining  complete  control  of  himself,  turned  to 
Ethel  and,  advancing  with  outstretched  hands,  murmured : 

"  My  dear !  " 

Ethel  looked  coldly  at  him,  ignored  the  extended  hands 
and  asked: 

"  Why  did  she  run  away  ?  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  221 

Brent  smiled  easily  and  confidently: 

"  I'd  surprised  one  of  her  secrets  and  she  flew  into  a 
temper.  Did  you  see  her  strike  me?  "  He  waited  anx- 
iously for  her  reply. 

"  Secrets?  "  was  all  Ethel  said. 

"  Yes.  See."  He  walked  across  to  the  corner  and 
turned  back  the  carpet  and  kneeling  down  searched  for 
the  book,  found  it  and  held  it  up  triumphantly: 
"  Here !  "  He  stood  up,  and  opened  the  book  and  read 
the  title-page: 

"  '  Love  Stories  of  the  World.'  «  To  Peg  from  Jerry.' 
Oho !  "  cried  Mr.  Brent.  "  Jerry !  Eh  ?  No  wonder  she 
didn't  want  me  to  see  it." 

He  put  the  book  back  into  its  hiding-place  and  ad- 
vanced to  Ethel: 

"  Jerry !  So  that's  how  the  land  lies.  Romantic  lit- 
tle child!" 

Ethel  looked  steadily  at  him  as  he  came  toward  her. 
Something  in  her  look  stopped  him  within  a  few  feet  of 
her. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  after  her  ?  "  and  she  nodded  in  the 
direction  Peg  had  gone. 

"  Ethel !  "  he  cried,  aghast. 

"  She  is  new  and  has  all  the  virtues." 

"  I  assure  you  — "  he  began  — 

"  You  needn't.  If  there  is  one  thing  I  am  convinced 
of,  it's  your  assurance." 

"  Really  —  Ethel  — " 

*'  Were   you   '  carried  away '  again  ?  "   she   sneered. 

"  Do  you  think  for  one  moment  — ?  "  he  stopped. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Ethel  positively. 

Brent  hunted  through  his  mind  for  an  explanation. 
Finally  he  said  helplessly: 

"  I  —  I  —  don't  know  what  to  say." 


222  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Then  you'd  better  say  nothing." 

"  Surely  you're  not  jealous  —  of  a  —  a  —  child?  " 

"  No.     I  don't  think  it's  jealousy,"  said  Ethel  slowly. 

"  Then  what  is  it?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

She  looked  scornfully  at  him: 

"  Disgust !  "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  contemptu- 
ously as  he  tried  in  vain  to  find  something  to  say.  Then 
she  went  on: 

"  Now  I  understand  why  the  scullery  is  sometimes  the 
rival  of  the  drawing-room.  The  love  of  change !  " 

He  turned  away  from  her.  He  was  hurt.  Cut  to  the 
quick. 

"  This  is  not  worthy  of  you ! "  was  all  he  said. 

"That  is  what  rankles,"  replied  Ethel.  "It  isn't. 
You're  not." 

"  Ethel !  "  he  cried  desperately. 

"  If  that  ever  happened  again  I  should  have  to  ampu- 
tate you." 

Brent  walked  over  to  the  window-seat  where  he  had 
left  his  automobile  coat  and  cap  and  picked  them  up. 

Ethel  watched  him  quietly. 

"  Chris !     Come  here !  " 

He  turned  to  her. 

"  There  1  It's  over !  I  suppose  I  have  been  a  little 
hard  on  you.  All  forgotten?  "  She  held  out  her  hand. 
He  bent  over  it. 

"  My  nerves  have  been  rather  severely  tried  this  past 
month,"  Ethel  went  on.  "  Put  a  mongrel  into  a  kennel  of 
thoroughbreds,  and  they  will  either  destroy  the  intruder 
or  be  in  a  continual  condition  of  unsettled,  irritated  in- 
tolerance. That  is  exactly  my  condition.  I'm  unsettled, 
irritable  and  intolerant." 

Brent  sat  beside  her  and  said  softly: 

"  Then  I've  come  in  time  ?  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  223 

Ethel  smiled  as  she  looked  right  through  him: 

"  So  did  I,  didn't  I?  "  and  she  indicated  the  window 
through  which  Peg  ran  after  assaulting  Brent. 

The  young  man  sprang  up  reproachfully: 

"  Don't !     Please  don't !  "  he  pleaded. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Ethel  complacently,  "  I  won't." 

Brent  was  standing,  head  down,  his  manner  was  crest- 
fallen. He  looked  the  realisation  of  misery  and  self-pity. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Chris,"  remarked  Ethel  finally,  after  some 
moments  had  passed.  "  A  month  ago  it  wouldn't  have 
mattered  so  much.  Just  now  —  it  does.  I'd  rather 
looked  forward  to  seeing  you.  It's  been  horrible  here." 

"  A  month  of  misery  for  me,  too,"  replied  Brent,  pas- 
sionately. 

"  I'm  going  away  —  out  of  it.  To-morrow ! "  he 
addec\ 

"  Are  you  ?  "  she  asked  languidly.     "  Where  ?  " 

"  Petersburg  —  Moscow  —  Siberia  — " 

"  Oh  I  The  cold  places."  She  paused,  then  asked : 
"  Going  alone?  "  He  knelt  on  the  sofa  she  was  sitting 
on  and  whispered  almost  into  her  ear: 

"  Unless  someone  —  goes  *  with  me !  " 

"  Naturally,"  replied  Ethel,  quite  unmoved. 

"  Will  —  you  —  go?  "     And  he  waited  breathlessly. 

She  thought  a  moment,  looked  at  him  again,  and  said 
quietly :  "  Chris !  I  wish  I'd  been  here  when  you  called 
—  instead  of  that  —  brat." 

He  turned  away  up  again  to  the  window-seat  crying: 
"  Oh !  This  is  unbearable." 

Ethel  said  quite  calmly:  "  Is  it?  Your  wife  all  over 
again,  eh?  " 

He  came  back  to  her:  "No.  I  place  you  far  above 
her,  far  above  all  petty  suspicions  and  carping  narrow- 
nesses. I  value  you  as  a  woman  of  understanding." 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I  am,"  she  said  frankly.  "  From  what  you've  told 
me  of  your  wife,  she  must  be  too." 

"  Don't  treat  me  like  this ! "  he  pleaded  distractedly. 

"  What  shall  I  do?  "  asked  Ethel  with  wide  open  eyes, 
"apologise?  That's  odd.  I've  been  waiting  for  you 
to." 

Brent  turned  away  again  with  an  impatient  ejacula- 
tion. As  he  moved  up  toward  the  windows  Alaric  came 
in  behind  him  through  the  door. 

"  Hello,  Brent,"  he  called  out  heartily.     "  H'are  ye?  " 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  Alaric,"  he  said,  controlling 
his  surprise. 

"  Good.     The  dear  wife  well  too?  " 

"  Very." 

"And  the  sweet  child?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  must  bring  'em  along  sometime.  The  mater 
would  love  to  see  them  and  so  would  Ethel.  Ethel  loves 
babies,  don't  you,  dear?  "  Without  waiting  for  Ethel  to 
reply  he  hurried  on :  "  And  talkin'  of  babies,  have  you 
seen  Margaret  anywhere?  " 

Ethel  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  garden :  "  Out 
there!" 

"  Splendid.  The  mater  wants  her.  We've  got  to 
have  a  family  meetin'  about  her  and  at  once.  Mater'll  be 
here  in  a  minute.  Don't  run  away,  Brent,"  and  Alaric 
hurried  out  through  the  windows  into  the  garden. 

Brent  hurried  over  to  Ethel: 

"  I'm  at  the  hotel.  I'll  be  there  until  morning.  Send 
me  a  message,  will  you?  I'll  wait  up  all  night  for  one." 
He  paused:  "Will  you?" 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Ethel. 

"  I'm  sorry  if  anything  I've  said  or  done  has  hurt  you. 
Believe  me  it  is  absolutely  and  entirely  unnecessary." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  225 

"  Don't  say  any  more." 

"  Oh,  if  only  — "  he  made  an  impulsive  movement  to- 
ward her.  She  checked  him  just  as  her  mother  appeared 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  At  the  same  moment  Bennett, 
the  maid,  came  in  through  the  door. 

Mrs.  Chichester  greeted  Brent  courteously: 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Brent?  You  will  excuse  me?  " 
She  turned  to  the  maid: 

"  When  did  you  see  my  niece  last  ?  " 

"  Not  this  hour,  madam." 

"  Tell  Jarvis  to  search  the  gardens  —  the  stables  — • 
to  look  up  and  down  the  road." 

"  Yes,  madam,"  and  the  maid  hurried  away  in  search 
of  Jarvis. 

Mrs.  Chichester  turned  again  to  her  guest: 

"  Pardon  me  —  Mr.  Brent." 

"I'm  just  leaving,  Mrs.  Chichester." 

"  Oh,  but  you  needn't  — "  expostulated  that  lady. 

"  I'm  going  abroad  to-morrow.  I  just  called  to  say 
*  good-bye.'  " 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Chichester.  "  Well,  I  hope  you 
and  Mrs.  Brent  have  a  very  pleasant  trip.  You  must 
both  call  the  moment  you  return." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Brent.  "  Good-bye,  Mrs. 
Chichester  —  and  —  Ethel  — "  He  looked  meaningly 
and  significantly  at  Ethel  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway. 
The  next  moment  he  was  gone. 

Ethel  was  facing  the  problem  of  her  future  with  no 
one  to  turn  to  and  ask  for  guidance.  Her  mother  least 
of  all.  Mrs.  Chichester  had  never  encouraged  confidence 
between  her  children  and  herself,  consequently,  any  crisis 
they  reached  they  had  to  either  decide  for  themselves  or 
appeal  to  others.  Ethel  had  to  decide  for  herself  between 
now  and  to-morrow  morning.  Next  day  it  would  be  too 


226  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

late.  What  was  she  to  do?  Always  loath  to  make  up 
her  mind  until  forced  to,  she  decided  to  wait  until  night. 

It  might  be  that  the  something  she  was  always  expect- 
ing to  snap  in  her  nature  would  do  so  that  evening  and 
save  her  the  supreme  effort  of  taking  the  final  step  on  her 
own  initiative,  and  consequently  having  to  bear  the  full 
responsibility.  Whilst  these  thoughts  were  passing  rap- 
idly through  her  mind,  Alaric  hurried  in  through  the  win- 
dows from  the  garden. 

"  Not  a  sign  of  Margaret  anywhere,"  he  said  furiously, 
throwing  himself  into  a  chair  and  fanning  himself  vigor- 
ously. 

"  This  cannot  go  on,"  cried  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  I  should  think  not  indeed.  Running  about  all  over 
the  place." 

Mrs.  Chichester  held  up  an  open  telegram : 

"  Mr.  Hawkes  telegraphs  he  will  call  to-morrow  for  his 
first  report.  What  can  I  tell  him?  " 

"  What  will  you  ?  "  asked  Alaric. 

"  Am  I  to  tell  him  that  every  tutor  I've  engaged  for 
her  resigned?  Not  one  stays  more  than  a  week.  Can 
I  tell  him  that  ?  " 

"  You  could,  mater  dear :  but  would  it  be  wise  ?  " 

Mrs.  Chichester  went  on: 

"  Am  I  to  tell  him  that  no  maid  will  stay  with  her  ? 
That  she  shows  no  desire  to  improve?  That  she  mimics 
and  angers  her  teachers,  refuses  to  study  and  plays  im- 
pish tricks  like  some  mischievous  little  elf?  Am  I  to  tell 
him  that?  " 

"  Serve  her  jolly  well  right  if  you  did.  Eh,  Ethel?  " 
said  Alaric. 

"  It  would,"  replied  Ethel. 

At  that  moment  the  footman  and  the  maid  both  entered 
from  the  garden  very  much  out  of  breath. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  227 

"  I've  searched  everywhere,  madam.  Not  a  sign  of 
her,"  said  Bennett. 

"  Not  in  the  stables,  nor  up  or  down  the  road.  And 
the  dog's  missin',  madam,"  added  Jarvis. 

Ethel  sprang  up. 

"  '  Pet  '?  " 

"  No,  miss.  She's  gnawin'  a  bone  on  the  lawn.  The 
other?' 

"  That  will  do,"  and  Mrs.  Chichester  dismissed 
them. 

As  they  disappeared  through  the  door,  the  old  lady 
said  appealingly  to  her  children : 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  Heaven  knows,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  throw  the  whole  business  up." 

"  Wish  to  goodness  we  could.  But  the  monthly 
cheque  will  be  useful  to-morrow,  mater." 

"  That's  it !     That's  it !  "  cried  the  unhappy  woman. 

"  No  one  seems  particularly  anxious  to  snatch  at  my 
services  as  yet,"  said  Alaric.  "  Course  it's  a  dull  time, 
Jerry  tells  me.  But  there  we  are.  Not  tuppence  comin' 
in  and  the  butcher's  to  be  paid  —  likewise  the  other 
mouth-fillers.  See  where  I'm  comin'  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  lain  awake  at  night  struggling  with  it  ?  " 
replied  the  poor  lady,  almost  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  hope  of  the  family ; 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  Let's  give  the  little  beggar 
another  month  of  it.  Let  her  off  lightly  this  time,  and 
the  moment  the  lawyer-bird's  gone,  read  her  the  riot-act. 
Pull  her  up  with  a  jerk.  Ride  her  on  the  curb  and  no 
rot!  " 

"  We  could  try,"  and  Mrs.  Chichester  wiped  her  eyes : 
"  Of  course  she  has  improved  in  her  manner.  For  that 
we  have  to  thank  Ethel."  She  looked  affectionately  at 


228  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

her  daughter  and  choked  back  a  sob.     "  Who  could  live 
near  dear  Ethel  and  not  improve  ?  " 

"  Ah !     There  we  have  it !  "  agreed  Alaric. 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  much  of  the  improvement  is 
genuine  and  how  much  pretended,"  gasped  his  mother. 

"  There  we  go  again.  She's  got  us  fairly  gravelled," 
said  Alaric  despondently. 

"  Of  course  I  can  truthfully  tell  him  that,  at  times,  she 
is  very  tractable  and  obedient." 

"  A  t  times!  About  two  minutes  a  week !  When 
Jerry's  around.  How  on  earth  he  puts  up  with  her  I 
can't  understand.  She  follows  him  about  like  a  little 
dog.  Listens  to  him.  Behaves  herself.  But  the  mo- 
ment he's  gone  —  Poof !  back  she  goes  to  her  old  tricks. 
I  tell  you  she's  a  freak ! "  and  Alaric  dismissed  the  mat- 
ter, and  sat  back  fanning  himself. 

"  Can  I  tell  Mr.  Hawkes  that?  "  asked  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  No,"  replied  Alaric.  "  But  I  would  say  that  the 
thousand  a  year  is  very  hardly  earned.  Nat  ought  to 
have  made  it  ten  thousand.  Dirt  cheap  at  that.  Tell 
him  that  out  of  respect  for  the  dead  man's  wishes,  we  shall 
continue  the  job  and  that  on  the  whole  we  have  hopes. 
Slight  —  but  —  hopes!  *' 

In  through  the  open  windows  came  the  sound  of  dogs 
barking  furiously.     Ethel  sprang  up  crying: 
;  *  Pet! '  "  and  hurried  out  into  the  garden. 

Mrs.  Chichester  and  Alaric  went  to  the  windows  and 
looked  out. 

"  Margaret ! "  cried  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  And  the  mongrel !  She's  urgin'  him  on.  The  ter- 
rier's got  *  Pet '  now."  Alaric  called  out  to  the  little 
poodle :  "  Fight  him,  old  girl !  Maul  him !  Woa 
there !  *  Pet's  '  down.  There  is  Ethel  on  the  scene," 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  229 

he  cried  as  Ethel  ran  across  the  lawn  and  picked  up  the 
badly  treated  poodle. 

"  Go  and  separate  them,"  urged  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Not  me,"  replied  Alaric.  "  Ethel  can  handle  'em. 
I  hate  the  little  brutes.  All  hair  and  teeth.  I  cannot 
understand  women  coddling  those  little  messes  of  snarling, 
smelly  wool." 

Ethel  came  indignantly  into  the  room  soothing  the  ex- 
cfted  and  ruffled  "  Pet"  She  was  flushed  and  very  angry. 
How  dare  that  brat  let  her  mongrel  touch  the  aristo- 
cratic poodle? 

A  moment  later  Peg  entered  with  the  victorious 
"  Michael  "  cradled  in  her  arms.  She  had  a  roguish  look 
of  triumph  in  her  eyes.  Down  the  front  of  her  charming 
new  dress  were  the  marks  of  "  Michael's  "  muddy  paws. 
Peg  was  also  breathing  quickly,  and  evidently  more  than 
a  little  excited. 

"  Take  that  animal  out  of  the  room ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Chichester  indignantly  the  moment  Peg  appeared. 

Peg  turned  and  walked  straight  out  into  the  garden 
and  began  playing  with  "  Michael  "  on  the  grass. 

Mrs.  Chichester  waited  for  a  few  moments,  then  called 
out  to  her: 

"  Margaret  f "  Then  more  sharply :  "  Margaret ! 
Come  here  !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

Peg  went  on  playing  with  "  Michael "  and  just  an- 
swered :  "  I  hear  ye." 

"  Come  here  at  once !  " 

"  Can  '  Michael  *  come  in  too  ?  "  came  from  the  garden. 

'*  You  come  in  and  leave  that  brute  outside." 

"  If  *  Michael '  can't  come  in,  /  don't  want  to,"  ob- 
stinately insisted  Peg. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you.     Come  here,"  commanded  her  aunt. 


230  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Peg  tied  "  Michael  "  to  one  of  the  French  windows  and 
then  went  slowly  into  the  room  and  stood  facing  her 
aunt. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  asked  that  lady. 

"  Down  to  the  say-shore,"  replied  Peg  indifferently. 

"  Haven't  I  told  you  never  to  go  out  alone?  " 

"  Ye  have." 

"  How  dare  you  disobey  me  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  had  to." 

"You  had  to?" 

"  I  did." 

"  And  why?  " 

"  *  Michael '  needed  a  bath,  so  I  took  him  down  to  the 
say-shore  an'  gave  him  one.  He  loves  the  wather,  he 
does." 

"  Are  there  no  servants?  " 

"  There  are  sure." 

"  Isn't  that  their  province  ?  " 

"  Mebbe.  But  they  hate  *  Micliael  '  and  I  hate  them. 
I  wouldn't  let  them  touch  him." 

"  In  other  words  you  wilfully  disobeyed  me  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  Is  this  the  way  my  niece  should  behave  ?  " 

*'  Mebbe  not.     It's  the  way  /  behave  though." 

"  So  my  wishes  count  for  nothing?  " 

The  old  lady  looked  so  hurt  as  well  as  so  angry  that 
Peg  softened  and  hastened  to  try  and  make  it  up  with 
her  aunt: 

"  Sure  yer  wishes  do  count  with  me,  aunt.  Indade  they 
do." 

"  Don't  say  indade.  There  is  no  such  word.  Itir 
deed!  "  corrected  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  aunt.     Indeed  they  do." 

"  Look  at  your  dress !  "  suddenly  cried  Mrs.  Chichester 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  231 

as  she  caught  sight  of  the  marks  of  '*  Michael's  "  play- 
fulness. 

Peg  looked  at  the  stains  demurely  and  said  cheerfully: 

"  '  Michael '  did  that.     Sure  they'll  come  off." 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  at  the  flushed  face  of  the  young 
girl,  at  the  mass  of  curly  hair  that  had  been  carefully 
dressed  by  Bennett  for  dinner  and  was  now  hovering 
around  her  eyes  untidily.  The  old  lady  straightened  it: 

"  Can  you  not  keep  your  hair  out  of  your  eyes  ?  What 
do  you  think  will  become  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  hope  to  go  to  Heaven,  like  all  good  Catholics," 
said  Peg. 

Mrs.  Chichester  turned  away  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. 

"  I  give  it  up !     I  give  it  up !  "  she  said,  half-crying. 

"  I  should  say  so,"  agreed  Alaric.     "  Such  rubbish !  " 

Peg  shook  her  head  the  moment  Mrs.  Chichester  turned 
her  back,  and  the  little  red  curls  once  more  danced  in 
front  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  do  everything  I  can,  everything,"  complained  Mrs. 
Chichester,  "  but  you  —  you  — "  she  broke  off.  "  I 
don't  understand  you !  I  don't  understand  you !  " 

"  Me  father  always  said  that,"  cried  Peg  eagerly ; 
"  and  if  he  couldn't  sure  how  could  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  your  father,"  said  Mrs.  Chichester  se- 
verely. Peg  turned  away. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  continued  the  old  lady.  "  I  say  wJiat 
is  it?  " 

"  What  is  what ?  "  asked  Peg. 

"  Is  it  that  you  don't  wish  to  improve?     Is  it  that?  " 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  7  think  it  is,"  began  Peg  helpfully, 
as  if  anxious  to  reach  some  satisfactory  explanation :  "  I 
think  there's  a  little  divil  in  me  lyin'  there  and  every  now 
and  again  he  jumps  out." 


232 

"  A  devil?  "  cried  Mrs.  Chichester,  horrified. 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  said  Peg  demurely. 

"  How  dare  you  use  such  a  word  to  me?  " 

"  I  didn't.  I  used  it  about  myself.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  have  a  divil  in  ye  or  not.  I  think  /  have." 

Mrs.  Chichester  silenced  her  with  a  gesture: 

"  To-morrow  I  am  to  give  Mr.  Hawkes  my  first  report 
on  you." 

Peg  laughed  suddenly  and  then  checked  herself 
quickly. 

"  And  why  did  you  do  that?  "  asked  her  aunt  severely. 

"  I  had  a  picture  of  what  ye're  goin'  to  tell  him." 

"  Your  manners  are  abominable." 

"Yes,  aunt." 

"What  am  I  to  tell  Mr.  Hawkes?  " 

"  Tell  him  the  truth,  aunt,  and  shame  the  divil." 

"  Margaret ! "  and  the  old  lady  glared  at  her  in  hor- 
ror. 

"  I  beg  yer  pardon,"  said  Peg  meekly. 

66  Don't  you  wish  to  remain  here  ?  "  continued  Mrs. 
Chichester. 

"  Sometimes  I  do,  an'  sometimes  I  don't." 

"Don't  I  do  everything  that  is  possible  for  you?  " 

"  Yes,  ye  do  everything  possible  to  me  — " 

"What?" 

"  I  mean  —  for  me.  I  should  have  said  for  me, 
aunt !  "  and  Peg's  blue  eyes  twinkled  mischievously. 

"Then  why  do  you  constantly  disobey  me?  "  pursued 
the  old  lady. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  the  original  sin  in  me,"  replied  Peg 
thoughtfully. 

[*  What?  "  cried  Mrs.  Chichester  again  taken  com- 
pletely aback. 

"  Oh,    I    say,    you   know  1    that's    good !     Ha ! "    and 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  233 

Alaric  laughed  heartily.  Peg  joined  in  and  laughed 
heartily  with  him.  Alaric  immediately  stopped. 

Ethel  took  absolutely  no  notice  of  any  one. 

Peg  sat  down  beside  her  aunt  and  explained  to  her: 
"  Whenever  I  did  anythin'  wilful  or  disturbin'  as  a  child 
,  me  father  always  said  it  was  the  '  original  sin  '  in  me  an' 
that  I  wasn't  to  be  punished  for  it  because  I  couldn't 
help  it.  Then  he  used  to  punish  himself  for  my  fault. 
An'  when  I  saw  it  hurt  him  I  usen't  to  do  it  again  —  for 
a  while  —  at  least.  I  think  that  was  a  grand  way  to 
bring  up  a  daughter.  I've  been  wonderin'  since  I've 
been  here  if  an  aunt  could  bring  a  niece  up  the  same  way.'* 
And  she  looked  quizzically  at  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Supposin',  for  instance,  you  were  to  punish  yerself 
for  everythin'  wrong  that  I'd  do,  I  might  be  so  sorry  I'd 
never  do  it  again  —  but  of  course  I  might  not.  I  am 
not  sure  about  meself.  I  think  me  father  knows  me 
betther  than  I  do  meself." 

"  Your  father  must  have  been  a  very  bad  influence  on 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Chichester  sternly. 

"  No,  he  wasn't,"  contradicted  Peg,  hotly.  "  Me  fath- 
er's the  best  man  — " 

Mrs.  Chichester  interrupted  her :     "  Margaret !  " 

Peg  looked  down  sullenly  and  said:     "Well,  he  was." 

"  Haven't  I  told  you  never  to  contradict  me?  " 

"  Well,  you  contradict  me  all  the  time." 

"  Stop ! " 

"  Well,  there's  nothin'  fair  about  your  conthradictin* 
me  and  me  not  being  able  to  — " 

"Will  you  stop?" 

"  Well,  now,  aunt,  ye  will  do  me  a  favour  if  you  will 
stop  spakin'  about  me  father  the  way  you  do.  It  hurts 
me,  it  does.  I  love  my  father  and  —  I  —  I  - 

"  Will  —  you  —  stop?  " 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I  have  stopped."  And  Peg  sank  back  in  her  chair, 
breathing  hard  and  her  little  fists  punching  against  each 
other. 

Her  aunt  then  made  the  following  proposition: 

"  If  I  consent  to  take  charge  of  you  for  a  further 
period,  will  you  promise  me  you  will  do  your  best  to 
show  some  advancement  during  the  next  month?  " 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  said  Peg  readily. 

"  And  if  I  get  fresh  tutors  for  you,  will  you  try  to  keep 
them?" 

«  Yes,  aunt." 

Mrs.  Chichester  questioned  Alaric.  "  What  do  you 
think?" 

"  We  might  risk  it,"  replied  Alaric,  turning  to  his 
sister:  "Eh,  Ethel?" 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  was  Ethel's  reply. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Chichester  determinedly,  "  Be- 
gin to-night." 

"  Begin  what?  "  queried  Peg,  full  of  curiosity. 

"  To  show  that  you  mean  to  keep  your  promise.  Work 
for  a  while." 

"  What  at?  "  asked  Peg,  all  eagerness  to  begin  some- 
thing. 

"  Get  your  books,"  said  her  aunt. 

"  Sure  an'  I  will."  And  Peg  turned  to  different  parts 
of  the  room,  finding  an  atlas  here,  a  book  of  literature 
on  the  piano,  an  English  history  under  the  table.  Finally 
she  got  them  complete  and  sat  down  at  the  big  table  and 
prepared  to  study. 

Jarvis  came  in  with  a  letter  on  a  salver. 

"Well?"  asked  the  old  lady. 

"  For  Miss  Chichester,  madam,"  and  he  handed  Ethel 
the  letter.  "  By  hand,  miss." 

Ethel  took  the  letter  quite  unconsciously  and  opened 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  235 

it.  Whilst  she  was  reading  it,  Peg  called  the  footman 
over  to  her. 

"  Jarvis,"  she  said,  "  me  dog  '  Michael '  is  outside 
there,  tied  up  to  the  door.  He's  had  a  fight  an'  he's 
tired.  Will  ye  put  him  to  bed  for  me  like  a  good  boy  ?  " 

Jarvis  went  out  disgustedly,  untied  the  dog  and  put 
him  in  the  kennel  that  had  been  specially  made  for  him. 

Poor  Jarvis's  life  this  last  month  had  been  most  un- 
happy. The  smooth  and  peaceful  order  of  things  in  the 
house  had  departed.  The  coming  of  the  "  niece  "  had 
disturbed  everything.  Many  were  the  comments  below 
stairs  on  the  intruder.  The  following  is  an  example  of 
the  manner  in  which  Peg  was  regarded  by  the  footman 
and  Mrs.  Chichester's  own  maid,  Bennett. 

"A  niece!"  cried  Bennett,  sarcastically,  just  after 
Peg's  arrival. 

"  So  they  say!  "  retorted  Jarvis,  mysteriously. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  her?  " 

"  Well,  every  family  I've  served  and  my  mother  be- 
fore me,  had  a  family  skeleton.  She  is  ours." 

"  WThy,  she  hadn't  a  rag  to  her  back  when  she  came 
here.  I'd  be  ashamed  to  be  dressed  as  she  was.  You 
should  have  seen  the  one  she  goes  to  Mass  in ! " 

"  I  did,"  said  Jarvis  indignantly.  "  All  wrapped  up 
in  the  '  Irish  Times.'  Then  I  got  ragged  for  putting  her 
in  the  kitchen.  Looked  too  good  for  her.  And  that 
dog!  Can't  go  near  it  without  it  trying  to  bite  me.  I 
don't  approve  of  either  of  'em  comin'  into  a  quiet  family 
like  ours." 

Just  then  the  bell  called  him  to  the  drawing-room  and 
further  discussion  of  Peg  and  "  Michael  "  was  deferred 
to  a  more  suitable  opportunity. 

To  return  —  Ethel  read  her  letter  and  went  to  the 
writing-desk  to  reply  to  it. 


236  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Who  is  it  from?  "  asked  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Mr.  Brent,"  replied  Ethel,  indifferently. 

"Brent?"  cried  Alaric.  "What  on  earth  does  he 
write  to  you  for?  " 

"  He  wants  me  to  do  something  for  him,"  and  she  tore 
the  letter  up  into  the  smallest  pieces  and  placed  them  in 
a  receptacle  on  the  desk. 

"  Do  something?  "  questioned  Alaric. 

"  Yes.  Nothing  very  much.  I'll  answer  it  here,"  and 
she  proceeded  quite  imperturbably  to  write  an  answer. 

Mrs.  Chichester  had  seen  that  Peg  had  commenced  to 
study  —  which  meant  —  with  Peg  —  roaming  through 
her  books  until  she  found  something  that  interested  her. 
Then  she  would  read  it  over  and  over  again  until  she 
thought  she  knew  it. 

"  Come,  Alaric,"  and  Mrs.  Chichester  left  the  room 
after  admonishing  Peg  that  an  hour  would  be  sufficient 
to  sit  up. 

Alaric  watched  his  mother  go  out  of  the  room  and 
then  he  slouched  over  to  Peg  and  grinned  chaffingly  down 
at  her. 

"  Original-sin,  eh?     That's  a  good  'un." 

Peg  looked  up  at  him  and  a  dangerous  gleam  came  into 
her  eyes.  Alaric  was  not  going  to  mock  at  her  and  get 
away  unscathed.  All  unconscious  of  his  danger,  Alaric 
went  on: 

"  Study  all  the  pretty  maps  and  things." 

Peg  closed  the  book  with  a  slam  and  took  it  up  and 
held  it  in  a  threatening  manner  as  she  glared  at  Alaric. 

"  Little  devil !  "  and  Alaric  laughed  at  her. 

"  He's  tuggin'  at  me  now ! "  replied  Peg.  "  The  devil 
must  hate  knowledge.  He  always  tries  to  keep  me  from 
gettin'  any." 

Alaric  laughed  again  maliciously. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  2S7 

"  Watch  your  cousin !  Model  yourself  on  Ethel! 
Eh?  What?" 

Peg  hurled  the  book  at  him;  he  dodged  it  and  it  just 
escaped  hitting  Ethel,  who  turned  at  the  disturbance. 

Alaric  hurried  out  to  avoid  any  further  conflict  — 
calling  back  over  his  shoulder: 

"  Little  devil." 

Peg  picked  up  the  book,  looked  at  Ethel,  who  had  fin- 
ished the  letter  and  had  put  it  into  an  unaddressed  en- 
velope. She  took  a  cigarette  out  of  her  case  and  lit  it 
neatly. 

Peg  took  one  out  of  the  box  on  the  table  and  lit  it 
clumsily,  though  in  exact  imitation  of  Ethel. 

When  Ethel  had  addressed  the  envelope  she  turned  and 
saw  Peg  smoking,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  watch- 
ing Ethel  with  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

Ethel  impatiently  threw  her  cigarette  on  to  the  ash 
tray  on  the  desk. 

Peg  did  the  same  action  identically  into  a  tray  on  the 
table. 

Ethel  rose  indignantly  and  faced  Peg. 

"  Why  do  you  watch  me  ?  " 

"  Aunt  told  me  to.  Aren't  ye  me  model?  I'm  to 
mould  meself  on  you,  sure ! " 

Ethel  turned  away  furiously  and  began  to  ascend  the 
stairs. 

Peg  followed  her  and  called  up  to  her: 

"May  I  talk  to  ye?" 

"  You  were  told  to  study,"  replied  Ethel,  angrily. 

"Won't  ye  let  me  talk  to  ye?  Please,  do!"  urged 
Peg.  Then  she  went  on :  "  Ye  haven't  said  a  kind 
wurrd  to  me  since  I've  been  here."  She  stopped  a  mo- 
ment. Ethel  said  nothing.  Peg  continued :  "  Sure, 
we're  both  girls,  in  the  same  house,  of  the  same  family. 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

an'  pretty  much  the  same  age,  and  yet  3-6  never  look  at 
me  except  as  if  ye  hated  me.  Why,  ye  like  yer  dog  bet- 
ther  than  you  do  me,  don't  ye  ?  " 

Ethel  looked  down  at  "  Pet  '*  and  fondled  her  and 
kissed  her. 

"  I'm  sorry  *  Michael '  hurt  him.  It  was  a  cowardly 
thing  of  *  Michael '  to  do  to  snap  at  a  little  bit  of  a  thing 
like  that  is.  But  it  wasn't  '  Michael's  '  fault.  /  set  him 
on  to  it,  an'  he  always  obeys  me.  He'd  bite  a  lion  or 
that  " —  and  she  pointed  to  the  poor  little  poodle  — "  if 
I  set  him  onto  it." 

"  You  made  him  attack  '  Pet '?  "  cried  Ethel. 

"  I  did.  I  hate  it.  It's  so  sleek  and  fat  and  well-bred. 
I  hate  fat,  well-bred  things.  I  like  them  thin  and  com- 
mon, like  *  Michael '  and  meself.  A  dog  should  be  made 
to  look  like  a  dog  if  it  is  a  dog.  No  one  could  mistake 
*  Michael '  for  anything  else  but  a  dog.  But  that 
thing  — " 

Ethel  gave  an  indignant  ejaculation  and  again  started 
to  go  upstairs. 

Peg  entreated  her: 

"  Don't  go  for  a  minnit.  Won't  ye  make  friends  with 
me?  " 

"  We've  nothing  in  common,"  replied  Ethel. 

"  Sure,  that  doesn't  prevent  us  bein'  dacent  to  each 
other,  does  it  ?  " 

"  Decent?  "  cried  Ethel  in  disgust. 

"  I'll  meet  ye  three  quarthers  o*  the  way  if  ye'll  show 
just  one  little  generous  feelin'  toward  me."  She  paused 
as  she  looked  pleadingly  at  Ethel :  "  Ye  would  if  ye 
knew  what  was  in  me  mind." 

Ethel  came  down  to  the  last  step  of  the  stairs  and 
stood  there  looking  down  searchingly  at  Peg.  Finally 
she  said: 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  239 

"  You're  a  strange  creature." 

"  Not  at  all.  It's  you  people  here  who  are  strange  — 
I'm  just  what  I  am.  I  don't  pretend  or  want  to  be  any- 
thin'  else.  But  you  —  all  of  you  —  seem  to  be  trying  to 
be  somethin'  different  to  what  ye  are." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Ethel  suspiciously. 

"  Oh,  I  watch  ye  and  listen  to  ye,"  went  on  Peg  eagerly. 
;<  Ye  turn  yer  face  to  the  wurrld  as  much  as  to  say, 
'Look  at  me!  aren't  I  the  beautiful,  quiet,  well-bred, 
aisy-goin',  sweet-tempered  young  lady?'  An'  yer 
nothin5  o'  the  kind,  are  ye?  " 

Ethel  went  slowly  over  to  Peg  and  looked  into  her 
eyes : 

"What  ami?" 

"  Sure  ye've  got  the  breedin'  all  right,  an'  the  nice- 
looks,  an'  the  beautiful  manners  —  but  down  in  yer  heart 
an'  up  in  yer  brain  ye're  worryin'  yer  little  soul  all  the 
time,  aren't  ye  ? "  And  Peg  paused.  Ethel  looked 
down.  Peg  after  a  moment  continued :  "  An'  ye've  got 
a  temper  just  as  bad  as  mine.  It's  a  beautiful  temper  ye 
have,  Ethel.  It's  a  shame  not  to  let  a  temper  like  that 
out  in  the  daylight  now  and  again.  But  ye  kape  it  out 
o'  sight  because  it  isn't  good  form  to  show  it.  An'  with 
all  yer  fine  advantages  ye're  not  a  bit  happy,  are  ye? 
Are  ye,  Ethel?" 

Ethel,  moved  in  spite  of  herself,  admitted  involun- 
tarily: "No.  I'm  not!" 

Peg  went  on  quietly :  "  Nor  am  I  —  in  this  house. 
Couldn't  we  try  and  comfort  each  other?  "  There  was 
a  look  of  genuine  sympathy  with  Ethel  in  Peg's  big  blue 
eyes  and  a  note  of  tender  entreaty  in  her  tone. 

"  Comfort?  You  —  comfort  me?  "  cried  Ethel,  in  dis- 
dain. 

"  Yes,   Ethel  dear,   me   comfort  you,.     They   say   *  a 


240  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

beautiful  thought  makes  a  beautiful  face ' ;  an'  by  the 
same  token,  sure  a  kind  action  gives  ye  a  warm  feelin* 
around  the  heart.  An'  ye  might  have  that  if  ye'd  only 
be  a  little  kind  to  me  —  sometime." 

Peg's  honest  sincerity  and  depth  of  feeling  had  sud- 
denly a  marked  effect  on  the,  apparently,  callous  Ethel. 
She  turned  to  Peg  and  there  was  a  different  expression 
entirely  in  her  look  and  tone  as  she  said. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  been  a  little  inconsiderate." 

"  Ye  have,  sure,"  said  Peg. 

"  What  would  you  like  me  to  do?  " 

"  Pd  like  ye  to  spake  to  me  sometimes  as  though  I 
were  a  human  bein'  an'  not  a  clod  o'  earth." 

"  Very  well,  Margaret,  I  will.  Good  night."  And 
feeling  the  matter  was  closed,  Ethel  again  turned  away 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  Will  ye  give  me  another  minnit  —  now  —  please," 
called  Peg,  after  her,  excitedly. 

Ethel  looked  at  the  letter  in  her  hand,  hesitated,  then 
re-entered  the  room  and  went  down  to  Peg  and  said 
gently : 

"  All  right." 

"  Only  just  a  minnit,"  repeated  Peg,  breathlessly. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  I  want  ye  to  tell  me  somethin'." 

"What  is  it?" 

Peg  paused  —  looked  at  Ethel  bashfully  —  dropped 
her  eyes  to  the  ground  —  took  a  deep  breath  —  then 
said  as  fast  as  she  could  speak: 

"  Do  ye  know  anything  about  —  about  love?  " 

"  Love  ?  "  echoed  Ethel,  very  much  astonished. 

"  Yes,"  said  Peg.  "  Have  ye  ever  been  in  love?  "  and 
she  waited  expectantly  for  Ethel's  answer. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 

Ethel  put  the  letter  she  had  just  written  to  Mr.  Brent 
slowly  behind  her  back  and  answered  coldly: 

"  No.     I  have  not." 

"  Have  ye  ever  thought  about  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  do  ye  think  about  it  ?  "  questioned  Peg  eag- 
erly. 

"  Rot !  "  replied  Ethel,  decidedly. 

"  Rot?     Rot?  "  cried  Peg,  unable  to  believe  her  ears. 

"  Sentimental    nonsense   that    only    exists   in   novels." 

"  Ye're  wrong ! "  insisted  the  anxious  Peg ;  "  ye're 
wrong.  It's  the  most  wondherf  ul  thing  in  the  wurrld !  " 

Ethel  brought  the  letter  up  to  her  eyes  and  read  the 
superscription.  "  Think  so  ?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"  I  do,"  cried  Peg  hotly.  "  I  do.  It's  the  most  won- 
dherful  thing  in  the  whole  wurrld.  To  love  a  good  man 
who  loves  you.  A  man  that  made  ye  hot  and  cold  by 
turns :  burnin'  like  fire  one  minnit  an'  freezin'  like  ice  the 
next.  Who  made  yer  heart  leap  with  happiness  when  he 
came  near  ye,  an'  ache  with  sorrow  when  he  went  awayj 
from  ye.  Haven't  ye  ever  felt  like  that,  Ethel?  " 

"  Never !  "  replied  Ethel,  positively. 

Peg  went  on :  "  Oh !  it's  mighty  disturbing  I'm  tellin' 
ye.  Sometimes  ye  walk  on  air,  an'  at  others  yer  feet  are 
like  lead.  An'  at  one  time  the  wurrld's  all  beautiful  flow- 
ers and  sweet  music  and  grand  poetry  —  an'  at  another 
it's  all  coffins,  an'  corpses,  an'  shrouds."  She  shook  her 
head  seriously :  "  Oh !  I  tell  ye  it's  mighty  disturbin V 

Ethel  looked  at  her  inquiringly: 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

Peg  grew  confused,  then  answered  hurriedly: 

"  I've  been  readin'  about  it  —  in  a  book.  It's  won- 
dherful  —  that's  what  it  is." 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  When  you're  a  little  older  you  will  think  differently," 
corrected  Ethel,  severely.  "  You  will  realise  then  that  it 
is  all  very  primitive." 

"  Primitive?  "  asked  Peg,  disappointedly. 

"  Of  the  earth  —  earthy,"  answered  Ethel. 

Peg  thought  a  moment :  "  Sure  I  suppose  7  am  then." 
She  looked  half-shyly  at  Ethel  and  asked  her  quietly: 
"Don't  you  like  men?" 

"  Not  much,"  answered  Ethel,  indifferently. 

"  Just  dogs  ?  "  persisted  Peg. 

"  You  can  trust  them"  and  Ethel  caressed  "  Pet's  "  lit- 
tle pink  snout. 

"  That's  thrue,"  agreed  Peg.  "  I  like  dogs,  too.  But 
I  like  children  betther.  Wouldn't  ye  like  to  have  a  child 
of  yer  own,  Ethel?" 

That  yourig  lady  looked  at  her  horrifiedly :  "  Mar- 
garet! " 

"  Well,  7  would,"  said  Peg.  "  That's  the  rale  woman 
in  us.  Ye  know  ye  only  fondle  that  animal  because  ye 
haven't  got  a  child  of  yer  own  to  take  in  yer  arms.  Sure 
that's  the  reason  all  the  selfish  women  have  pet  dogs. 
They're  afraid  to  have  childhren.  I've  watched  them! 
O'  course  a  dog's  all  very  well,  but  he  can't  talk  to  ye,  an' 
comfort  ye,  an'  cry  to  ye,  an'  laugh  to  ye  like  a  child 
can." 

Peg  paused,  then  pointed  to  *'  Pet  "  and  launched  the 
following  wonderful  statement : 

"  Sure  that  thing  could  never  be  President  of  the 
United  States.  But  if  ye  had  a  baby  he  might  grow 
up  to  it." 

"  That's  very  Irish,"  sneered  Ethel. 

"  Faith  I  think  it's  very  human,"  answered  Peg.  "  I 
wish  ye  had  some  more  of  it,  Ethel,  acushla." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  243 

Ethel  walked  away  as  though  to  dismiss  the  whole  sub- 
ject. It  was  most  distasteful  to  her: 

"  It  is  not  customary  for  girls  to  talk  about  such 
things." 

"  I  know  it  isn't,"  said  Peg.  "  An'  the  more's  the 
pity.  Why  shouldn't  we  discuss  events  of  national  im- 
portance ?  We  think  about  them  —  very  well !  why 
shouldn't  we  talk  about  them.  Why  shouldn't  girls  be 
taught  to  be  honest  with  each  other?  I  tell  ye  if  there 
was  more  honesty  in  this  wurrld  there  wouldn't  be  half  the 
sin  in  it,  that  there  wouldn't." 

"  Really  — "  began  Ethel  — 

"  Let  iis  be  honest  with  each  other,  Ethel,"  and  Peg 
went  right  over  to  her  and  looked  at  her  compassionately. 

"  What  do  ye  mean  ?  "  said  Ethel  with  a  sudden  con- 
traction of  her  breath. 

"You  like  Mr.  Brent,  don't  ye?" 

So!  the  moment  had  come.  The  little  spy  had  been 
watching  her.  Well,  she  would  fight  this  common  little 
Irish  nobody  to  the  bitter  end.  All  the  anger  in  her 
nature  surged  uppermost  as  Ethel  answered  Peg  —  but 
she  kept  her  voice  under  complete  control  and  once  more 
put  the  letter  behind  her  back. 

"  Certainly  I  like  Mr.  Brent.  He  is  a  very  old  friend 
of  the  family!" 

"He's  got  a  wife?" 

"  He  has !  " 

"An'  a  baby?" 

"  Yes  —  and  a  baby."  Ethel  was  not  going  to  betray 
herself.  She  would  just  wait  and  see  what  course  this 
creature  was  going  to  take  with  her. 

Peg  went  on : 

"  Of  course  I've  never  seen  the  wife  or  the  baby  because 


244  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

he  never  seems  to  have  them  with  him  when  he  calls  here. 
But  I've  often  heard  Alaric  ask  afther  them." 

"Well?"  asked  Ethel  coldly. 

"  Is  it  usual  for  English  husbands  with  babies  to  kiss 
other  women's  hands  ?  "  and  Peg  looked  swiftly  at  her 
cousin. 

Ethel  checked  an  outburst  and  said  quite  calmly: 

"  It  is  a  very  old  and  a  very  respected  custom." 

"  The  devil  doubt  it  but  it's  old.  I'm  not  so  sure 
about  the  respect.  Why  doesn't  he  kiss  me  aunt's  hand 
as  well?  " 

Ethel  went  quickly  to  the  staircase.  She  could  not 
control  herself  much  longer.  It  was  becoming  unbear- 
able. As  she  crossed  the  room  she  said  with  as  little  heat 
as  possible: 

"  You  don't  understand." 

"  Well,  but  I'm  thryin'  to,"  persisted  Peg.  "  That's 
why  I  watch  ye  all  the  time." 

Ethel  turned:  she  was  now  at  bay: 

"  You  -watch  me?  " 

"  Aren't  ye  me  model  ?  " 

"It's  contemptible!"  cried  Ethel. 

"  Sure  I  only  saw  the  *  old  and  respected  custom  '  by 
accident  —  when  I  came  in  through  there  a  month  ago  — 
an'  once  since  when  I  came  in  again  by  accident  —  a  few 
days  aftherwards.  I  couldn't  help  seein'  it  both  times. 
And  as  for  bein'  contemptible  I'm  not  so  sure  the  custom 
doesn't  deserve  all  the  contempt" 

Ethel  was  now  thoroughly  aroused: 

"  I  suppose  it  is  too  much  to  expect  that  a  child  of 
the  common  people  should  understand  the  customs  of 
decent  people." 

"  Mebbe  it  is,"  replied  Peg.     "  But  I  don't  see  why 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  245 

the  common  people  should  have  att  the  decency  and  the 
aristocracy  none." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  talk  to  you.  I  was  foolish  to  have 
stayed  here.  You  don't  understand:  you  never  could 
understand  — " 

P<g  interrupted: 

"  Why,  I  never  saw  ye  excited  before :  —  not  a  bit  of 
colour  in  yer  cheeks  till  now  —  except  twice.  Ye  look 
just  as  ye  did  when  Mr.  Brent  followed  that  old  and  re- 
spected, custom  on  yer  hand,"  cried  Peg. 

Ethel  answered,  this  time,  excitedly  and  indignantly, 
giving  full  and  free  vent  to  her  just  anger: 

"  Be  good  enough  never  to  speak  to  me  again  as  long 
as  you're  in  this  house.  If  I  had  my  way  you'd  leave  it 
this  moment.  As  it  is  —  as  it  is — "  her  voice  rose  al- 
most to  a  scream:  her  rage  was  unbridled. 

What  more  she  might  have  said  was  checked  by  the 
door  opening  and  Jarvis  showing  in  Jerry. 

Jerry  walked  cheerfully  and  smilingly  into  the  room 
and  was  amazed  to  find  the  two  young  ladies  glaring  at 
each  other  and  apparently  in  the  midst  of  a  conflict. 

All  power  of  speech  left  him  as  he  stood  looking  in 
amazement  at  the  combatantSt 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   TEMPLE   OF    FEIENDSHIP 

ETHEL  was  the  first  to  recover  her  equanimity. 

She  came  down  the  steps,  greeted  Jerry  with  a  genial 
handshake,  asked  to  be  excused  for  a  moment,  and  after 
halting  the  departing  Jarvis  she  went  over  to  the  writing- 
desk,  opened  the  envelope,  added  a  postscript,  addressed 
a  new  envelope,  put  the  augmented  epistle  inside  it,  s  ;aled 
it,  handed  it  to  Jarvis,  saying: 

"  Send  that  at  once.     No  answer." 

As  Jarvis  left  the  room,  Ethel  turned  to  speak  to 
Jerry.  Meanwhile,  that  young  gentleman  had  greeted 
Peg: 

"  And  how  is  Miss  Peg  this  evening?  " 

"  I'm  fine,  Mr.  Jerry,  thank  ye."  She  looked  at  him 
admiringly.  He  was  in  evening  dress,  a  light  overcoat 
was  thrown  across  his  arm  and  a  Homburg  hat  in  his 
hand. 

"Let  me  take  your  hat  and  coat?"  she  suggested. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Jerry,  "  I'm  not  going  to  stay." 

"Aren't  ye?  "  she  asked  disappointedly. 

**  Is  your  aunt  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she's  in.     Is  it  her  ye've  come  to  see?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jerry. 

At  that  moment  Ethel  joined  them. 

"  I  came  over  to  ask  Mrs.  Chichester's  permission  for 
you  two  young  ladies  to  go  to  a  dance  to-night.  It's 
just  across  from  here  at  the  assembly  rooms. 

Peg  beamed  joyfully.     It  was  just  what  she  wanted 

to  do.     Ethel  viewed  the  suggestion  differently: 

346 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 

"  Et's  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said ;  "  but  it's  quite  im- 
posuble." 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  Peg. 

"  Impossible?  "  exclaimed  Jerry. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  and  Ethel  went  to  the  door. 

"  So  am  I,"  replied  Jerry  regretfully.  "  I  would  have 
given  you  longer  notice  only  it  was  made  up  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment.  Don't  you  think  you  could?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  dancing.  Besides, —  my  head 
aches." 

"  What  a  pity,"  exclaimed  the  disappointed  young 
man.  Then  he  said  eagerly :  "  Do  you  suppose  your 
mother  would  allow  Miss  Margaret  to  go?  " 

"  I'll  ask  her,"  and  Ethel  left  the  room. 

Peg  ran  across,  stopped  the  door  from  closing  and 
called  after  Ethel: 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  ye  —  indade  I  didn't.  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  ye,  that  was  all  —  an'  ye  made  me 
angry — "  Ethel  disappeared  without  even  turning  her 
head. 

Peg  came  into  the  room  ruefully,  and  sat  down  on  the 
sofa,  She  was  thoroughly  unhappy. 

Jijrry  looked  at  her  a  moment,  walked  over  to  her  and 
asked  her:  "  What's  the  matter?  " 

"  One  of  us  girls  has  been  brought-up  all  wrong.  I 
tried!  to  make  friends  with  her  just  now  and  only  made 
her  angry,  as  I  do  every  one  in  this  house  whenever  I 
open  my  mouth." 

"  Aren't  you  friends  ?  " 

"  Indade  —  indeed  —  indeed  — we're  not.  None  of 
them  are  with  me." 

"What  a  shame!" 

"  Wait  until  ye  hear  what  me  aunt  says  when  ye  ask 
her  about  the  dance ! " 


248  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Don't  you  think  she'll  let  you  go?  " 

"  No.  I  do  not"  She  looked  at  him  quizzically  for 
a  moment.  Then  she  burst  out  laughing.  He  was  glad 
to  see  her  spirits  had  returned  and  wondered  as  to  the 
cause.  She  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  dancing  with  mis- 
chief: 

"  Misther  Jerry,  will  ye  take  me  all  the  same  if  me 
aunt  doesn't  consent?  " 

"  Why,   Peg  — ; '   he  began,   astonishedly. 

"  But  I  haven't  got  an  evenin'  dress.  Does  it  mat- 
ter?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  but  — " 

"  Will  this  one  do?  " 

"  It's  very  charming  —  still  — " 

"  Stains  and  all?  " 

"  My  dear  Peg  — " 

"  Perhaps  they'll  rub  out.  It's  the  prettiest  one  me 
aunt  gave  me  —  an'  I  put  it  on  to-night  —  because  —  I 
thought  you  —  that  is,  someone  might  come  here  to-night. 
At  least,  I  hoped  he  would,  an*  ye've  come !  "  Suddenly 
she  broke  out  passionately :  "  Oh,  ye  must  take  me ! 
Ye  must!  I  haven't  had  a  bit  of  pleasure  since  I've 
been  here.  It  will  be  wondherful.  Besides  I  wouldn't 
rest  all  night  with  you  dancin*  over  there  an'  me  a  pris- 
oner over  here." 

"  Now,  Peg  — "  he  tried  to  begin  — 

"  It's  no  use,  I  tell  ye.  Ye've  got  to  take  me.  An' 
if  it  goes  against  yer  conscience  to  do  it,  Til  take  you. 
Stop,  now!  Listen!  The  moment  they're  all  in  bed, 
an'  the  lights  are  all  out  I'll  creep  down  here  an'  out 
through  those  windows  an'  you'll  meet  me  at  the  foot 
o'  the  path.  An'  it's  no  use  ye  sayin'  anythin'  because 
I'm  just  goin'  to  that  dance.  So  make  up  yer  mind 
to  it." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  249 

Jerry  laughed  uncomfortably.  She  was  quite  capa- 
ble of  doing  such  a  thing  and  getting  herself  into  a  great 
deal  of  unnecessary  trouble.  So  he  tried  to  dissuade  her. 
He  laughed  cheerfully. 

"  There  may  not  be  any  occasion  to  do  such  a  wild, 
foolish  thing.  Why,  your  aunt  may  be  delighted." 

"  Me  aunt  has  never  been  delighted  since  she  was 
born !  " 

"  Have   you   been   annoying  her   again  ?  " 

"  Faith,  I'm  always  doin'  that." 

He  looked  at  the  litter  of  books  on  the  table  and 
picked  up  one. 

"  How  are  your  studies  progressing?  " 

"  Just  the  way  they  always  have,"  replied  Peg.  "  Not 
at  all." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  like  studying,"  answered  Peg  earnestly. 

"  And  are  you  going  through  life  doing  only  the 
things  you  like?  " 

"Sure,  that's   all  life's   for." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't.  As  you  grow  older  you'll  find  the 
only  real  happiness  in  life  is  in  doing  things  for  others." 

"  Oh ! "  she  said  quickly :  "  I  like  doin'  them  now 
for  others."  She  looked  up  at  him  a  moment,  then  down 
at  a  book  and  finished  under  her  breath :  "  When  I 
like  the  others." 

He  looked  at  her  intently  a  moment  and  was  just 
going  to  speak  when  she  broke  in  quickly : 

"  What's  the  use  of  learnin'  the  heights  of  mountains 
whose  names  I  can't  pronounce  and  I'm  never  goin'  to 
climb?  And  I'm  very  much  surprised  at  me  aunt  allowin' 
me  to  read  about  the  doin's  of  a  lot  of  dead  kings  who 
did  things  we  ought  to  thry  and  forget." 

"  They  made  history,"  said  Jerry. 


250  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Well,  they  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of  themselves. 
I  don't,  care  how  high  Mont  Blanc  is  nor  when  William 
the  Conqueror  landed  in  England." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  "  reasoned  Jerry  — 

"  I  tell  ye  I  Jiate  English  history.  It  makes  all  me 
Irish  blood  boil."  Suddenly  she  burst  into  a  reproduc- 
tion of  the  far-off  father,  suiting  action  to  word  and 
climaxing  at  the  end,  as  she  had  so  often  heard  him 
finish : 

"  «  What  is  England?  What  is  it,  I  say.  I'll  tell  ye ! 
A  mane  little  bit  of  counthry  thramplin'  down  a  fine  race 
like  ours! '  That's  what  me  father  sez,  and  that's  the 
way  he  sez  it.  An'  when  he  brings  his  fist  down  like 
that  — "  and  she  showed  Jerry  exactly  how  her  father 
did  it — "when  he  brings  his  fist  down  like  that,  it 
doesn't  matther  how  many  people  are  listenin'  to  him, 
there  isn't  one  dares  to  conthradict  him.  Me  father  feels 
very  strongly  about  English.  History.  An'  I  don't  want 
to  learn  it." 

"  Is  it  fair  to  your  aunt?  "  asked  Jerry. 

Peg  grew  sullen  and  gloomy.  She  liked  to  be  praised, 
but  all  she  ever  got  in  that  house  was  blame.  And  now 
he  was  following  the  way  of  the  others.  It  was  hard. 
No  one  understood  her. 

"  Is  it  fair  to  your  aunt?  "  he  repeated. 

"  No.     I  don't  suppose  it  is." 

"  Is  it  fair  to  yourself?  " 

"  That's  right  —  scold  me,  lecture  me !  You  so  md 
just  like  me  aunt,  ye  do." 

"  But  you'll  be  at  such  a  disadvantage  by-and-by 
with  other  young  ladies  without  half  your  intelligence 
just  because  they  know  things  you  refuse  to  learn.  Then 
you'll  be  ashamed." 

She  looked  at  him  pleadingly. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  251 

"Are  you,  ashamed  of  me?  Because  I'm  ignorant? 
Are  ye  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  replied  Jerry  heartily.  "  I  was  just  the 
same  at  your  age.  I  used  to  scamp  at  school  and  shirk 
at  college  until  I  found  myself  so  far  behind  fellows  I 
despised  that  /  was  ashamed.  Then  I  went  after  them 
tooth  and  nail  until  I  caught  them  up  and  passed  them." 

"  Did  3'e?  "  cried  Peg  eagerly. 

"  I  did." 

"  7  will,  too,"  she  said. 

"Will  you?" 

She  nodded  vigorously: 

"I  will  —  indeed  I  will.  From  now  on  I'll  do  every- 
thia'  they  tell  me  an'  learn  everythin'  they  teach  me,  if 
it  kills  me !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  he  said  seriously. 

"  An'  when  I  pass  everybody  else,  an'  know  more  than 
anyone  ever  knew  —  will  ye  be  very  proud  of  me?  " 

"  Yes,  Peg.     Even  more  than  I  am  now." 

"  Are  ye  now?  " 

"  I  am.     Proud  to  think  you  are  my  friend." 

"  Ye'd  ha'  won  yer  wager.  We  are  friends,  aren't 
we?" 

"  I  am  yours" 

"  Sure,  I'm  yours  all  right." 

She  looked  at  him,  laughed  shyly  and  pressed  'her 
cheeks.  He  was  watching  her  closely. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  he  asked. 

"  Do  ye  know  what  Tom  Moore  wrote  about  Friend- 
ship? " 

"  No." 

"Shall  I  tell  ye?"  excitedly. 

"  Do." 

"  See  if  anywan's  comin'  first." 


252  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

As  he  looked  around  the  room  and  outside  the  door 
to  detect  the  advent  of  an  intruder  Peg  sat  at  the  piano 
and  played  very  softly  the  prelude  to  an  old  Irish  song. 

As  Jerry  walked  back  he  said  surprisedly :  "  Oh !  so 
you  play?  " 

Peg  nodded  laughingly. 

"  Afther  a  fashion.  Me  father  taught  me.  Me  aunt 
can't  bear  it.  An'  the  teacher  in  the  house  said  it  was 
dhreadful  and  that  I  must  play  scales  for  two  years  more 
before  I  thry  a  tune.  She  said  I  had  no  ear." 

Jerry  laughed  as  he  replied :  "  I  think  they're  very 
pretty." 

"  Do  ye?  Well  watch  them  an'  mebbe  ye  won't  mind 
me  singin'  so  much.  An'  afther  all  ye're  only  a  farmer, 
aren't  ye  ?  " 

"  Hardly  that,"  and  Jerry  laughed  again. 

Her  fingers  played  lightly  over  the  keys  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  This  is  called  *  A  Temple  to  Friendship,*  "  she  ex- 
plained. 

"Indeed?" 

"  And  it's  about  a  girl  who  built  a  shrine  and  she 
thought  she  wanted  to  put  *  Friendship '  into  it.  She 
thought  she  wanted  '  Friendship.'  Afther  a  while  she 
found  out  her  mistake.  Listen : "  And  Peg  sang,  in  a 
pure,  tremulous  little  voice  that  vibrated  with  feeling  the 
following : 

" '  A  temple  to  Friendship,'  said  Laura  enchanted, 
'  I'll  build  in  this  garden:  the  thought  is  divine! ' 
Her  temple  was  built  and  she  now  only  wanted 
An  Image  of  Friendship  to  place  on  the  shrine. 

She  flew  to  a  sculptor  who  set  down  before  her 
A  Friendship  the  fairest  his  art  could  invent! 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  253 

But  so  cold  and  so  dull  that  the  Youthful  adorer 
Saw  plainly  this  was  not  the  idol  she  meant. 

'  Oh !   never/   she  cried,  '  could   I   think   of  enshrining 
An  image  whose  looks  are  so  joyless  and  dim  — 
But  yon  little  god  (Cupid)  upon  roses  reclining, 
We'll  make,  if  you  please,  sir,  a  Friendship  of  him.' 

So  the  bargain  was  struck;  with  the  little  god  laden 
She  joyfully  flew  to  her  shrine  in  the  grove: 
'  Farewell/  said  the  sculptor,  '  you're  not  the  first  maiden, 
Who  came  but  for  Friendship  and  took  away  —  Love.'  " 

She  played  the  refrain  softly  after  she  had  finished 
the  song.  Gradually  the  last  note  died  away. 

Jerry  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Where  in  the  world  did  you  learn  that  ?  " 

"  Me  father  taught  it  to  me,"  replied  Peg  simply. 
"  Tom  Moore's  one  of  me  father's  prayer-books." 

Jerry  repeated  as  though  to  himself: 

" '  Who  came  but  for  Friendship  and  took  away 
Lffoe! '  " 

44  Isn't  that  beautiful?"  And  Peg's  face  had  a  rapt 
expression  as  she  looked  up  at  Jerry. 

"  Do  you  believe  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Didn't  Tom  Moore  write  it  ?  "  she  answered. 

"  Is  there  anything  better  than  Friendship  between 
man  and  woman  ?  " 

She  nodded: 

"  Indeed  there  is.  Me  father  felt  it  for  me  mother 
or  I  wouldn't  be  here  now.  Me  father  loved  me  mother 
with  all  his  strength  and  all  his  soul." 

"  Could  you,  ever  feel  it  ?  "  he  asked,  and  there  was 
an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  waited  for  her  to  an- 
swer. 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

She  nodded. 

"  Have  you  ever  felt  it?  "  he  went  on. 

"  All  me  life,"  answered  Peg  in  a  whisper. 

"  As  a  child,  perhaps,"  remarked  Jerry.  "  Some  day 
it  will  come  to  you  as  a  woman  and  then  the  whole  world 
will  change  for  you." 

"  I  know,"  replied  Peg  softly.     "  I've  felt  it  comin'." 

"  Since  when  ?  "  and  once  again  suspense  was  in  his 
voice. 

"  Ever  since  —  ever  since  — "  suddenly  she  broke  off 
breathlessly  and  throwing  her  arms  above  her  head  as 
though  in  appeal  she  cried : 

"  Oh,  I  do  want  to  improve  meself.  Now  I  wish  I  liad 
been  born  a  lady.  I'd  be  more  worthy  of  — " 

"  What?  Whom?  "  asked  Jerry  urgently  and  wait- 
ing anxiously  for  her  answer. 

Peg  regained  control  of  herself,  and  cowering  down 
again  on  to  the  piano-stool  she  went  on  hurriedly: 

"  I  want  knowledge  now.  I  know  what  you  mean  by 
bein'  at  a  disadvantage.  I  used  to  despise  learnin'.  I've 
laughed  at  it.  I  never  will  again.  Why  I  can't  even 
talk  yer  language.  Every  wurrd  I  use  is  wrong.  This 
book  ye  gave  me  —  the  *  Love  Stories  of  tlie  World,'  I've 
never  seen  anythin'  like  it.  I  never  knew  of  eiich  people. 
I  didn't  dhream  what  a  wondherful  power  in/&C  wurrld 
was  the  power  of  love.  I  used  to  think  it  sumethin'  to 
kape  to  yerself  and  never  spake  of  out  in  the  open.  Now 
I  know  it's  the  one  great  big  wondherful  power  in  the 
wurrld.  It's  me  love  for  me  father  has  kept  faith  and 
hope  alive  in  me  heart.  I  was  happy  with  him.  I  never 
wanted  to  lave  him.  Now  I  see  there  is  another  happiness, 
too  an'  it's  beyond  me.  I'm  no  one's  equal.  I'm  just  a 
little  Irish  nothin' — " 

"  Don't  say  that,"  Jerry  interrupted. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  255 

"  There's  an  obstinate  bad  something  in  me  that  holds 
me  back  every  time  I  want  to  go  forward.  Sometimes 
the  good  little  somethin'  tries  so  hard  to  win,  but  the  bad 
bates  it.  It  just  bates  it,  it  does." 

"  What  you  call  the  bad  is  the  cry  of  youth  that  re- 
sents being  curbed:  and  the  good  is  the  woman  in  you 
struggling  for  an  outlet,"  explained  Jerry. 

"  Will  you  help  me  to  give  it  an  outlet,  Mr.  Jerry?  " 

"  In  any  way  in  my  power,  Peg." 

As  they  stood  looking  at  each  other  the  momentary 
something  was  trembling  on  both  their  lips  and  beating 
in  both  of  their  hearts.  The  something  —  old  as  time, 
yet  new  as  birth  —  that  great  transmuter  of  affection 
into  love,  of  hope  into  faith.  It  had  come  to  them  — 
yet  neither  dared  speak. 

Peg  read  his  silence  wrongly. 

She  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair  and  her  heart  beat 
fast  with  shame.  She  laughed  a  deliberately  misleading 
laugh  and,  looking  up  roguishly  at  him,  said,  her  eyes 
dancing  with  apparent  mischief,  though  the  tear  lurked 
behind  the  lid: 

"  Thank  ye  for  promisin'  to  help  me,  Misther  Jerry. 
But  would  ye  mind  very  much  if  the  bad  little  somethin' 
had  one  more  spurt  before  I  killed  it  altogether?  Would 

"  Why,  how  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Take  me  to  that  dance  to-night  —  even  without  me 
aunt's  permission,  will  ye?  I'll  never  forget  ye  for  it 
if  yc  will.  An'  it'll  be  the  last  wrong  thing  I'll  ever  do. 
I'm  just  burnin'  all  over  at  the  thought  of  it.  My  heart's 
burstin'  for  it."  She  suddenly  hummed  a  waltz  refrain 
and  whirled  around  the  room,  the  incarnation  of  childish 
abandonment. 

Mrs.   Chichester  came  slowly  down  the  stairs,  gazing 


256  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

in  horror  at  the  little  bouncing  figure.  As  Peg  whirled 
past  the  newel  post  she  caught  sight  of  her  aunt.  She 
stopped  dead. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Chichester  an- 
grily. 

Peg  crept  away  and  sank  down  into  a  chair: 

Jerry  came  to  the  rescue.  He  shook  hands  with  Mrs. 
Chichester  and  said: 

"  I  want  you  to  do  something  that  will  make  the  child 
very  happy.  Will  you  allow  her  to  go  to  a  dance  at 
the  Assembly  Rooms  to-night  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Chichester  severely.  "  I 
am  surprised  at  you  for  asking  such  a  thing." 

"  I  could  have  told  ye  what  she'd  say  wurrd  for 
wurrd !  "  muttered  Peg. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Jerry,  straightening  up, 
hurt  at  the  old  lady's  tone.  "  The  invitation  was  also 
extended  to  your  daughter,  but  she  declined.  I  thought 
you  might  be  pleased  to  give  your  niece  a  little  pleas- 
ure." 

"  Go  to  a  dance  —  unchaperoned  ?  " 

"  My  mother  and  sisters  will  be  there." 

"  A  child  of  her  age  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Chichester. 

'*  Child  is  it  ?  "  cried  Peg  vehemently.  "  I'd  have  ye 
know  my  father  lets  me  go  anywhere  — " 

'*  Margaret!  "  and  the  old  lady  attempted  to  silence 
Peg  with  a  gesture.  Peg  changed  her  tone  and  pleaded : 

"  Plaze  let  me  go.  I'll  study  me  head  off  to-morrow 
if  ye'll  only  let  me  dance  me  feet  off  a  bit  to-night. 
Plaze  let  me !  " 

The  old  lady  raised  her  hand  commanding  Peg  to 
stop.  Then  turning  to  Jerry  she  said  in  a  much  softer 
tone: 

"  It  was  most  kind  of  you  to  trouble  to  come  over. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  257 

You  must  pardon  me  if  I  seem  ungracious  —  but  it  is 
quite  out  of  the  question." 

Peg  sprang  up,  eager  to  argue  it  out. 

Jerry  looked  at  her  as  if  imploring  her  not  to  anger 
her  aunt  any  further.  He  shook  Mrs.  Chichester's  hand 
and  said: 

"  I'm  sorry.  Good  night."  He  picked  up  his  hat 
and  coat  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  Kindly  remember  me  to  your  mother  and  sisters," 
added  Mrs.  Chichester  gently. 

"  With  pleasure,"  and  Jerry  opened  the  door. 

"  Good  night,  Misther  Jerry,"   called  Peg. 

He  turned  and  saw  Peg  deliberately  pointing  to  the 
pathway  and  indicating  that  he  was  to  meet  her  there. 

Mrs.  Chichester  happened  to  look  around  just  in  time 
to  catch  her.  Peg  reddened  and  stood  trapped. 

Jerry  went  out. 

The  old  lady  looked  at  her  for  several  moments  without 
speaking.  Finally  she  asked: 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  dancing  in  that  disgraceful 
way?  And  what  did  you  mean  by  those  signs  you  were 
making?  " 

Peg  said  nothing. 

"  Are  you  always  going  to  be  a  disgrace  to  us  ?  Are 
you  ever  going  to  learn  how  to  behave?  " 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  said  Peg,  and  the  words  came  out  in  a 
torrent.  "  I'm  never  goin'  to  do  anythin'  agen  to  annoy 
ye  —  afther  to-night.  I'm  goin'  to  wurrk  hard  too  — 
afther  to-night.  Don't  ye  see  what  a  disadvantage  I'd 
be  at  with  girls  without  half  me  intelligence  if  I  don't? 
Don't  ye  see  it?  I  do.  I'd  be  ashamed  —  that's  what 
I'd  be.  Well  —  I'm  goin'  afther  them  tooth  and  nail 
an'  I'm  goin'  to  catch  them  up  an'  pass  them  an'  then 
he'll  —  ye'll  —  ye'U  — be  proud  of  me  —  that  ye  will." 


258  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  What  is  all  this  ?  "  asked  the  amazed  old  lady. 

"  It's  what  I'm  goin'  to  do  —  afther  to-night.'* 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  I  knew  ye  would  be.  An'  I'll  never  be  any  more 
throuble  to  ye  —  aftfar  to-night." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  of  the  same  mind  in  the  morning."/ 

"  So  do  I,  aunt.  D'ye  mind  if  I  stay  up  for  another! 
hour?  I'd  like  to  begin  now." 

"  Begin  what ?  " 

"  Tryin'  to  pass  people  —  tooth  an'  nail.  May  I 
study  for  just  one  more  hour?  " 

"  Very  well.     Just  an  hour." 

"Sure  that'll  be  fine."  She  went  to  the  table  and 
began  eagerly  to  arrange  her  books  once  again. 

"  Turn  off  the  lights  when  you've  finished,"  said  Mrs. 
Chichester. 

"  Yes,  aunt.     Are  you  goin'  to  bed  now?  " 

« I  am." 

"  Everybody  in  the  house  goin'  to  bed  —  except  me  ?  '* 

"  Everybody." 

"  That's  good,"  said  Peg,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Don't  make  any  noise,"  admonished  the  old  lady. 

"  Not   a   sound,    aunt,"   agreed  Peg. 

"  Good  night,"  and  Mrs.  Chichester  went  to  the  stairs. 

"  Good  night,  aunt !  Oh !  there's  somethin'  else.  I 
thought  perhaps  I  would  have  to  be  gettin'  back  home  to 
me  father  but  I  had  a  letther  from  him  this  mornin'  an' 
it  was  quite  cheerful  —  so  I  think  —  if  ye  don't  mind  — 
I'd  like  to  stay  another  month.  Can  I?" 

"  We'll  talk  it  over  with  Mr.  Hawkes  in  the  morning," 
Mrs.  Chichester  said  coldly  and  went  on  up  the  stairs. 

Peg  watched  her  out  of  sight  then  jumped  up  all  ex- 
citement and  danced  around  the  room.  She  stopped  by 
the  table,  looked  at  the  open  books  in  disgust  —  with  a 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  259 

quick  movement  swept  them  off  the  table.  Then  she 
listened  panic-stricken  and  hurriedly  knelt  down  and 
picked  them  all  up  again.  Then  she  hurried  over  to  the 
windows  and  looked  out  into  the  night.  The  moonlight 
was  streaming  full  down  the  path  through  the  trees.  In 
a  few  moments  Peg  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and 
listened.  Not  hearing  anything  she  crept  upstairs  into 
her  own  little  Mauve-Room,  found  a  cloak  and  some 
slippers  and  a  hat  and  just  as  quietly  crept  down  again 
into  the  living-room. 

She  just  had  time  to  hide  the  cloak  and  hat  and  slippers 
on  the  immense  window-seat  when  the  door  opened  and 
Ethel  came  into  the  room.  She  walked  straight  to  the 
staircase  without  looking  at  Peg,  and  began  to  mount 
the  stairs. 

"  Hello,  Ethel ! "  called  out  Peg,  all  remembrance  of 
the  violent  discussion  gone  in  the  excitement  of  the  pres- 
ent. "  I'm  studyin'  for  an  hour.  Are  yez  still  angry 
with  me  ?  Won't  ye  say  '  good  night '  ?  Well,  then,  I 
will.  Good  night,  Ethel,  an'  God  bless  you." 

Ethel  disappeared  in  the  bend  of  the  stairs. 

Peg  listened  again  until  all  was  still,  then  she  crept 
icross  the  room,  turned  back  the  carpet  and  picked  up 
ler  treasure  —  her  marvellous  book  of  "Love-Stories." 

She  took  it  to  the  table,  made  an  island  of  it  as  was 
jer  wont  —  and  began  to  read  —  the  precious  book  con- 
cealed by  histories  and  atlases,  et  cetera. 

Her  little  heart  beat  excitedly. 

The  one  thought  that  beat  through  her  quick  brain 
was: 

"  Will  Jerry  come  back  for  me?  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  DANCE  AND  ITS  SEQUEL 

MRS.  CHICHESTER'S  uncompromising  attitude  had  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  what  followed.  Had  she  shown  the 
slightest  suggestion  of  fairness  or  kindness  toward  Peg 
things  might  have  resulted  differently. 

But  her  adamantine  attitude  decided  Jerry. 

He  resolved  to  fly  in  the  face  of  the  proprieties. 

He  would  take  the  little  child  to  the  Assembly  Rooms, 
put  her  in  the  care  of  his  mother  and  sisters  and  safe- 
guard at  least  one  evening's  pleasure  for  her. 

And  this  he  did. 

He  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the  path  when  he  saw  all  the 
lights  disappear  in  the  house. 

They  walked  across  the  lawns  and  meadows  on  that 
beautiful  July  night  with  the  moon  shining  down  on 
them. 

Once  at  the  great  hall  his  mother  put  the  gauche  little 
Peg  at  her  ease,  introduced  her  to  the  most  charming 
of  partners,  and  saw  that  everything  was  done  to  minister 
to  her  enjoyment. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night  for  Peg. 

She  danced  every  dance:  she  had  the  supper  one  witH 
Jerry:  she  laughed  and  sang  and  romped  and  was  the 
centre  of  all  the  attention.  What  might  have  appeared 
boldness  in  another  with  Peg  was  just  her  innocent, 
wilful,  child-like  nature.  She  made  a  wonderful  impres- 
sion that  night  and  became  a  general  favourite.  She 
wanted  it  to  go  on  and  on  and  to  never  stop.  When  the 

last  waltz  was  played,   and   encored,  and  the  ball   was 

260 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  261 

really  ended,  Peg  felt  a  pang  of  regret  such  as  she  had 
not  felt  for  a  long,  long  time. 

It  was  the  first  real  note  of  pleasure  she  had  experi- 
enced in  England  and  now  it  was  ended  and  to-morrow 
had  to  be  faced  and  the  truth  told.  What  would  hap- 
pen? What  course  would  Mrs.  Chichester  take?  Send 
her  away?  Perhaps  —  and  then — ?  Peg  brushed  the 
thought  away.  At  all  events  she  had  enjoyed  that  one 
wonderful  evening. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  happy !  So  happy ! "  she  cried,  as 
Jerry  led  her  back  to  her  seat  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
last  dance.  "  Sure  the  whole  wurrld  seems  to  be  goin* 
round  and  round  and  round  in  one  grand  waltz.  It's  the 
first  time  I've  been  ralely  happy  since  I  came  here.  And 
it's  been  through  you!  Through  you!  Thank  ye, 
Jerry." 

"  I'm  glad  it  has  been  through  me,  Peg,"  said  Jerry 
quietly. 

"  Faith  these  are  the  only  moments  in  life  that  count 
—  the  happy  ones.  Why  can't  it  always  be  like  this  ? 
Why  shouldn't  we  just  laugh  and  dance  our  way  through 
it  all  ?  "  went  on  Peg  excitedly.  The  rhythm  of  the 
movement  of  the  dance  was  in  her  blood :  the  lights  were 
dancing  before  her  eyes:  the  music  beat  in  on  her  brain. 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  the  world  one  great  ball-room 
for  you,"  said  Jerry  earnestly. 

"Do  ye?"  asked  Peg  tremulously. 

"  I  do." 

"  With  you  as  me  partner?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Dancin'  ivery  dance  with  me?" 

"  Every  one." 

"Wouldn't  that  be  beautiful?  An'  no  creepin'  back 
afther  it  all  like  a  thief  in  the  night?  " 


262  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  No,"  replied  Jerry.  "  Your  own  mistress,  free  to 
do  whatever  you  wished." 

**  Oh,"  she  cried  impulsively ;  "  wouldn't  that  be 
wondherful !  "  Suddenly  she  gave  a  little  elfish  chuckle 
and  whispered: 

"  But  half  the  fun  to-night  has  been  that  I'm  supposed 
to  be  sleepin'  across  beyant  there  and  here  I  am  stalin' 
time."  She  crooned  softly : 

"  'Sure  the  best  of  all  ways  to  lengthen  our  days, 
Is  to  stale  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  me  dear.'  " 

"  You've  stolen  them !  "  said  Jerry  softly. 

"  I'm  a  thief,  sure !  "  replied  Peg  with  a  little  laugh. 

**  You're  the  —  the  sweetest  —  dearest  — "  he  sud- 
denly checked  himself. 

His  mother  had  come  across  to  say  "  Good  night "  to 
Peg.  In  a  few  moments  his  sisters  joined  them.  They 
all  pressed  invitations  on  Peg  to  call  on  them  at  "  Noel's 
Folly  "  and  with  Mrs.  Chichester's  permission,  to  stay 
some  days. 

Jerry  got  her  cloak  and  just  as  they  were  leaving  the 
hall  the  band  struck  up  again,  by  special  request,  and 
began  to  play  a  new  French  waltz.  Peg  wanted  to  go 
back  but  Jerry  suggested  it  would  be  wiser  now  for  her 
to  go  home  since  his  mother  had  driven  away. 

Back  across  the  meadows  and  through  the  lanes,  under 
that  marvellous  moon  and  with  the  wild  beat  of  the 
Continental  Walse  echoing  from  the  ball-room,  walked 
Peg  and  Jerry,  side  by  side,  in  silence.  Both  were  busy 
with  their  thoughts.  After  a  little  while  Peg  whispered: 

"Jerry?" 

"Peg?" 

"  What  were  you  goin'  to  say  to  me  when  yer  mother 
came  up  to  us  just  now?  " 


He  kissed  her  hand  reverently 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  263 

"  Something  it  would  be  better  to  say  in  the  daylight, 
Peg." 

"  Sure,  why  the  daylight?  Look  at  the  moon  so  high 
in  the  heavens." 

"  Wait  until  to-morrow." 

"  I'll  not  slape  a  wink  thinkin'  of  all  the  wondherful 
things  that  happened  this  night.  Tell  me  —  Jerry  — 
yer  mother  and  yer  sisters  —  they  weren't  ashamed  o' 
me,  were  they?  " 

"  Why  of  course  not.     They  were  charmed  with  you." 

"Were  they?     Ralely?  " 

"  Really,  Peg." 

"  Shall  I  ever  see  them  again  ?  " 

"  I  hope  some  day  you'll  see  a  great  deal  of  them." 

They  reached  the  windows  leading  into  the  now  famous 
—  to  Peg  —  living-room.  He  held  out  his  hand : 

"  Good  night,  Peg." 

"  What  a  hurry  ye  are  in  to  get  rid  o'  me.  An'  a 
night  like  this  may  never  come  again." 

Suddenly  a  quick  flash  of  jealousy  startled  through 
her: 

"  Are  ye  goin'  back  to  the  dance?  Are  ye  goin'  to 
dance  the  extra  ones  ye  wouldn't  take  me  back  for?  " 

"  Not  if  you  don't  wish  me  to." 

"  Plaze  don't,"  she  pleaded  earnestly.'  "  I  wouldn't 
rest  aisy  if  I  thought  of  you  with  yer  arm  around  one 
of  those  fine  ladies'  waists,  as  it  was  around  mine  such  a 
little  while  ago  —  an*  me  all  alone  here.  Ye  won't,  will 
ye?" 

"No,  Peg;  I  will  not." 

"  An'  will  ye  think  o'  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  Peg,  I  will." 

"All  the  time?" 

«  All  the  time." 


264  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  An'  I  will  o'  you.  An'  I'll  pray  for  ye  that  no 
harm  may  come  to  ye,  an'  that  He  will  bless  ye  for 
makin'  me  happy." 

"  Thank  you,  Peg." 

He  motioned  her  to  go  in.  He  was  getting  anxious. 
Their  voices  might  be  heard. 

"Must  I  go  in  now?  "  asked  Peg.  "  Now?  "  she  re- 
peated. 

"You  must." 

"  With  the  moon  so  high  in  the  heavens  ?  " 

"  Someone  might  come." 

"  An'  the  music  comin'  across  the  lawn  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  get  into  trouble,"  he  urged. 

"  All  right,"  said  Peg,  half  resignedly.  "  I  suppose 
you  know  best.  Good  night,  Jerry,  and  thank  ye." 

"  Good  night,  Peg." 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  her  hand  reverently. 

At  the  same  moment  the  sound  of  a  high-power  auto- 
mobile was  heard  in  the  near  distance.  The  brakes  were 
put  on  and  the  car  came  to  a  stand-still.  Then  the  sound 
of  footsteps  was  heard  distinctly  coming  toward  the 
windows. 

"  Take  care,"  cried  Jerry.  "  Go  in.  Someone  is 
coming." 

Peg  hurried  in  and  hid  just  inside  the  windows  and 
heard  every  word  that  followed. 

As  Peg  disappeared  Jerry  walked  down  the  path  to 
meet  the  visitor.  He  came  face  to  face  with  Christian 
Brent. 

"  Hello,  Brent,"  he  said  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world — ?  "  cried  that  astonished 
gentleman. 

"  The  house  is  asleep,"  said  Jerry,  explanatorily. 

"  So  I  see,"  and  Brent  glanced  up  at  the  darkened 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  265 

< 

windows.  There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  out  of 
the  embarrassing  silence  Jerry  remarked: 

"Just  coming  from  the  dance?  I  didn't  see  you 
there." 

"  No,"  replied  the  uncomfortable  Brent.  "  I  was  rest- 
less and  just  strolled  here." 

"  Oh !     Let  us  go  on  to  the  road." 

"  Right,"  said  the  other  man,  and  they  walked  on. 

Before  they  had  gone  a  few  steps  Jerry  .stopped 
abruptly.  Right  in  front  of  him  at  the  gate  was  a  forty- 
horse-power  "  Mercedes  "  automobile. 

"  Strolled  here  ?  Why,  you  have  your  car ! "  said 
Jerry. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Brent  hurriedly.  "  It's  a  bright  night 
for  a  spin." 

The  two  men  went  on  out  of  hearing. 


CHAPTER  X 

PEG   INTERVENES 

PEG  listened  until  she  heard  the  faint  sounds  in 
the  distance  of  the  automobile  being  started  —  then  si- 
lence. 

She  crept  softly  upstairs.  Just  as  she  reached  the  top 
Ethel  appeared  from  behind  the  curtains  on  her  way 
down  to  the  room.  She  was  fully  dressed  and  carried  a 
small  travelling  bag. 

Peg  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Ethel ! "  she  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  You ! "  cried  Ethel,  under  her  breath  and  glaring  at 
Peg  furiously. 

"  Please  don't  tell  anyone  ye've  seen  me ! "  begged 
Peg. 

"  Go  down  into  the  room !  "  Ethel  ordered. 

Peg  went  down  the  stairs  into  the  dark  room,  lit  only 
by  the  stream  of  moonlight  coming  in  through  the  win- 
dows at  the  back.  Ethel  followed  her: 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I've  been  to  the  dance.  Oh,  ye  won't  tell  me  aunt, 
will  ye  ?  She'd  send  me  away  an'  I  don't  want  to  go  now, 
indade  I  don't." 

**  To  the  dance?  "  repeated  Ethel,  incredulously.  Try 
as  she  would  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  feeling  that 
Peg  was  there  to  watch  her. 

"  To  the  dance?  "  she  asked  again. 

"  Yes.     Mr.  Jerry  took  me." 

"  Jerry  took  you  ?  " 

"  Yer  mother  wouldn't  let  me  go.     So  Jerry  came  back 

266 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  267 

for  me  when  ye  were  all  in  bed  and  he  took  me  himself. 
And  I  enjoyed  it  so  much.  An'  I  don't  want  yer  mother 
to  know  about  it.  Ye  won't  tell  her,  will  ye  ?  " 

"  I  shall  most  certainly  see  that  my  mother  knows  of 
it." 

"  Ye  will  ?  "  cried  poor,  broken-hearted  Peg. 

"  I  shall.     You  had  no  right  to  go." 

"Why  are  ye  so  hard  on  me,  Ethel?" 

"  Because  I  detest  you." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Peg  simply.  "  Ye've  spoiled  all 
me  pleasure  now.  Good  night,  Ethel." 

Sore  at  heart  and  thoroughly  unhappy,  poor  Peg 
turned  away  from  Ethel  and  began  to  climb  the  stairs. 
When  she  was  about  half-way  up  a  thought  flashed  across 
her.  She  came  back  quickly  into  the  room  and  went 
straight  across  to  Ethel. 

"  And  what  are  you  doin'  here  —  at  this  time  o'  night  ? 
An'  dressed  like  that?  An'  with  that  bag?  What  does 
it  mane?  Where  are  ye  goin'?  " 

"  Go  to  your  room !  "  said  Ethel,  livid  with  anger,  and 
trying  to  keep  her  voice  down  and  to  hush  Peg  in  case 
her  family  were  awakened. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  were  going  with  — " 

Ethel  covered  Peg's  mouth  with  her  hand. 

"  Keep  down  your  voice,  you  little  fool ! " 

Peg  freed  herself.  Her  temper  was  up,  too.  The 
thought  of  why  Ethel  was  there  was  uppermost  in  her 
mind  as  she  cried: 

"  He  was  here  a  minnit  ago  an'  Mr.  Jerry  took  him 
away." 

"  He?  "  said  Ethel,  frightenedly. 

"  Mr.  Brent,"  answered  Peg. 

Ethel  went  quickly  to  the  windows.  Peg  sprang  in 
front  of  her  and  caught  her  by  the  wrists. 


268  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Were  ye  goin'  away  with  Mm?     Were  ye  ?  " 

"  Take  your  hands  off  me." 

"  Were  ye  goin'  away  with  him  ?  Answer  me  ?  "  in- 
sisted Peg. 

"Yes,"  replied  Ethel  vehemently.     "And  I  am." 

"  No  ye're  not,"  said  the  indomitable  Peg  holding  her 
firmly  by  the  wrist. 

"  Let  me  go ! "  whispered  Ethel,  struggling  to  release 
herself. 

"  Ye're  not  goin'  out  o'  this  house  to-night  if  I  have 
to  wake  everyone  in  it." 

"Wake  them!"  cried  Ethel.  "Wake  them.  They 
couldn't  stop  me.  Nothing  can  stop  me  now.  I'm  sick 
of  this  living  on  chanty;  sick  of  meeting  you  day  by  day, 
an  implied  insult  in  your  every  look  and  word,  as  much 
as  to  say :  *  I'm  giving  you  your  daily  bread ;  Tm  keep- 
ing the  roof  over  you ! '  I'm  sick  of  it.  And  I  end  it 
to-night.  Let  me  go  or  I'll  —  I'll — "  and  she  tried  in 
vain  to  release  herself  from  Peg's  grip. 

Peg  held  her  resolutely : 

"  What  d'ye  mane  by  insult?  An'  yer  daily  bread? 
An'  kapin'  the  roof  over  ye?  What  are  ye  ravin'  about 
at  all?" 

"  I'm  at  the  end  —  to-night.  I'm  going !  "  and  she 
struggled  with  Peg  up  to  the  windows.  But  Peg  did 
not  loose  her  hold.  It  was  firmer  than  before. 

"  You're  not  goin'  away  with  him,  I  tell  ye.  Ye're  not . 
What  d'ye  suppose  ye'd  be  goin'  to?  I'll  tell  ye.  A 
wakin'  an'  sleepin'  hell  —  that's  what  it  would  be." 

"  I'm  going,"  said  the  distracted  girl. 

"  Ye'd  take  him  from  his  wife  an'  her  baby  ?  " 

"  He  hates  them!  and  I  hate  this!  I  tell  you  I'm 
going  — " 

"  So  ye'd  break  yer  mother's  heart  an'  his  wife's  just  to 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  269 

satisfy  yer  own  selfish  pleasure?  Well  I'm  glad  /  sinned 
to-night  in  doin'  what  I  wanted  to  do  since  it's  given  me 
the  chance  to  save  you  from  doin'  the  most  shameful  thing 
a  woman  ever  did !  " 

"  Will  you  — "  and  Ethel  again  struggled  to  get  free. 

"  You'll  stay  here  and  he'll  go  back  to  his  home  if  I 
have  to  tell  everyone  and  disgrace  yez  both." 

Ethel  cowered  down  frightenedly. 

"  No !  No  !  You  must  not  do  that !  You  must  not 
do  that !  "  she  cried,  terror-stricken. 

"Ye  just  told  me  yer  own  mother  couldn't  stop  ye?  " 
said  Peg. 

"  My  mother  mustn't  know.  She  mustn't  know.  Let 
me  go.  He  is  waiting  —  and  it  is  past  the  time  — " 

"  Let  him  wait !  "  replied  Peg  firmly.  "  He  gave  his 
name  an'  life  to  a  woman  an'  it's  yer  duty  to  protect  her 
an'  the  child  she  brought  him." 

"  I'd  kill  myself  first ! "  answered  Ethel  through  her 
clenched  teeth. 

"  No,  ye  won't.  Ye  won't  kill  yerself  at  all.  Ye  might 
have  if  ye'd  gone  with  him.  Why  that's  the  kind  of  man 
that  tires  of  ye  in  an  hour  and  laves  ye  to  sorrow  alone. 
Doesn't  he  want  to  lave  the  woman  now  that  he  swore  to 
cherish  at  the  altar  of  God?  What  do  ye  suppose  he'd 
do  to  one  he  took  no  oath  with  at  all?  Now  have  some 
sense  about  it.  I  know  him  and  his  kind  very  well. 
Especially  him.  An'  sure  it's  no  compliment  he's  payin' 
ye  ayther.  Faith,  he'd  ha'  made  love  to  me  if  I'd  let 
him." 

"  What?     To  you?  "  cried  Ethel  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  to  me.  Here  in  this  room  to-day.  If  ye  hadn't 
come  in  when  ye  did,  I'd  ha'  taught  him  a  lesson  he'd  ha' 
carried  to  his  grave,  so  I  would !  " 

"  He  tried  to  make  love  to  you?  "  repeated  Ethel  in- 


270  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

credulously,  though  a  chill  came  at  her  heart  as  she  half 
realised  the  truth  of  Peg's  accusation. 

"  Ever  since  I've  been  in  this  house,"  replied  Peg. 
"  An'  to-day  he  comes  toward  me  with  his  arms  stretched 
out.  '  Kiss  an'  be  friends ! '  sez  he  —  an'  in  you  walked." 

"Is  that  true?"  asked  Ethel. 

"  On  me  poor  mother's  memory  it  is,  Ethel,"  replied 
Peg. 

Ethel  sank  down  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  eyes. 

"  The  wretch !  "  she  wailed,  "  the  wretch  !  " 

"  That's  what  he  is,"  said  Peg.  "  An'  ye'd  give  yer  life 
into  his  kapin'  to  blacken  so  that  no  dacent  man  or  woman 
would  ever  look  at  ye  or  spake  to  ye  again." 

"No!     That  is  over!     That  is  over!" 

All  the  self-abasement  of  consenting  to,  or  even  con- 
sidering going  with,  such  a  creature  as  Brent  now  came 
uppermost.  She  was  disgusted  through  and  through  to 
her  soul.  Suddenly  she  broke  down  and  tears  for  the 
first  time  within  her  remembrance  came  to  her.  She 
sobbed  and  sobbed  as  she  had  not  done  since  she  was  a 
child. 

"  I  hate  myself,"  she  cried  between  her  sobs.  "  Oh, 
how  I  hate  myself." 

Peg  was  all  pity  in  a  moment.  She  took  the  little 
travelling  bag  away  from  Ethel  and  put  it  on  the  table. 
Then  with  her  own  hands  she  staunched  Ethel's  tears 
and  tried  to  quiet  her. 

"Ethel   acushla!     Don't   do   that!     Darlin'!     Don't!, 
He's  not  worth  it.     Kape  yer  life  an'  yer  heart  clane  until 
the  one  man  in  all  the  wurrld  comes  to  ye  with  his  heart 
pure  too,  and  then  ye'll  know  what  rale  happiness  means." 

She  knelt  down  beside  the  sobbing  girl  and  took  Ethel 
in  her  arms,  and  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"  Sure,  then,  cry  dear,  and  wash  away  all  the  sins  of 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  271 

this  night.  It's  the  salt  of  yer  tears  that'll  cleanse  yer 
heart  an'  fall  like  Holy  Wather  on  yer  sowl.  Ssh! 
There!  There!  That's  enough  now.  Stop  now  an'  go 
back  to  yer  room,  an'  slape  until  mornin',  an'  with  the 
sunlight  the  last  thought  of  all  this  will  go  from  ye.  Ssh ! 
There  now !  Don't !  An'  not  a  wurrd  o'  what's  hap- 
pened here  to-night  will  cross  my  lips." 

She  helped  her  cousin  up  and  supported  her.  Ethel 
was  on  the  point  of  fainting,  and  her  body  was  trembling 
with  the  convulsive  force  of  her  half-suppressed  sobs. 

"  Come  to  my  room,"  said  Peg  in  a  whisper,  as  she 
helped  Ethel  over  to  the  stairs.  "  I'll  watch  by  yer  side 
till  mornin'.  Lane  on  me.  That's  right.  Put  yer 
weight  on  me." 

She  picked  up  the  travelling-bag  and  together  the  two 
girls  began  to  ascend  the  stairs. 

Ethel  gave  a  low  choking  moan. 

"  Don't,  dear,  ye'll  wake  up  the  house,"  cried  Peg 
anxiously.  "  We've  only  a  little  way  to  go.  Aisy  now. 
Not  a  sound!  Ssh,  dear!  Not  a  morsel  o'  noise." 

Just  as  the  two  girls  reached  the  landing,  Peg  in  her 
anxiety  stepped  short,  missed  the  top  step,  lost  her  foot- 
ing and  fell  the  entire  length  of  the  staircase  into  the 
room,  smashing  a  tall  china  flower-vase  that  was  repos- 
ing on  the  post  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

The  two  girls  were  too  stunned  for  a  moment  to  move. 

The  worst  thing  that  could  possibly  have  happened 
was  just  what  did  happen. 

There  would  be  ah1  kinds  of  questions  and  explana- 
tions. 

Peg  instantly  made  up  her  mind  that  they  were  not 
going  to  know  why  Ethel  was  there. 

Ethel  must  be  saved  and  at  any  cost. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet. 


272  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Holy  Mother ! "  she  cried,  "  the  whole  house'll  be 
awake!  Give  me  yer  hat!  Quick!  An'  yer  cloak! 
An'  yer  bag ! "  Peg  began  quickly  to  put  on  Ethel's 
hat  and  cloak.  Her  own  she  flung  out  of  sight  beneath 
the  great  oak  table. 

"  Now  remember,"  she  dictated,  "  ye  came  here  be- 
cause ye  heard  me.  Ye  weren't  goin'  out  o'  the  house  at 
all.  Ye  just  heard  me  movin'  about  in  here.  Stick  to 
that." 

The  sound  of  voices  in  the  distance  broke  in  on  them. 

"  They're  comin',"  said  Peg,  anxiously.  "  Remember 
ye're  here  because  ye  heard  me.  An'  ye  were  talkin' — 
an' —  Pll  do  the  rest.  Though  what  in  the  wurrld  I  am 
goin9  to  say  and  do  I  don't  know  at  all.  Only  you  were 
not  goin'  out  o'  this  house !  That's  one  thing  we've  got 
to  stick  to.  Give  me  the  bag." 

Wearing  Ethel's  hat  and  cloak  and  with  Ethel's  travel- 
ling-bag in  her  hand,  staunch  little  Peg  turned  to  meet 
the  disturbed  family,  with  no  thought  of  herself,  just 
the  one  abiding  resolution  to,  at  any  and  at  all  costs,  save 
her  cousin  Ethel  from  disgrace. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  THE    REBELLION    OF    PEG  " 

"  TAKE  care,  mater  —  keep  back.  Let  me  deal  with 
them."  And  Alaric  with  an  electric  flash-light  appeared 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  followed  by  his  mother  holding 
a  night-lamp  high  over  her  head  and  peering  down  into 
the  dark  room. 

"  It  was  from  here  that  the  sound  came,  dear,"  she 
said  to  Alaric. 

"  Stay  up  there,"  replied  the  valiant  youth :  "  I'll 
soon  find  out  what's  up." 

As  Alaric  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  the  door 
just  by  the  staircase  opened  noiselessly  and  a  large  body 
protruded  into  the  room  covered  in  an  equally  gigantic 
bath  robe.  As  the  face  came  stealthily  through  the  door- 
way, Alaric  made  one  leap  and  caught  the  invader  by 
the  throat. 

A  small,  frightened  voice  cried  out: 

"  Please  don't  do  that,  sir.     It's  only  me !  " 

Alaric  flashed  the  electric-light  in  the  man's  face  and 
found  it  was  the  unfortunate  Jarvis. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  asked  Alaric. 

"  I  heard  a  disturbance  of  some  kind  and  came  down 
after  it,  sir,"  replied  Jarvis,  nervously. 

"  Guard  that  door  then !  and  let  no  one  pass.  If 
there  is  any  one  trespassing  in  here  I  want  to  find 
'em." 

He  began  a  systematic  search  of  the  room  until  sud- 
denly the  reflector  from  the  flash-light  shone  full  on  the 

two  girls. 

273 


274  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Ethel  was  sitting  back  fainting  in  a  chair,  clinging 
to  Peg,  who  was  standing  beside  her  trembling. 

"  Ethel!  "  cried  Alaric  in  amazement. 

**  Margaret!  "  said  Mrs.  Chichester  in  anger. 

"Well,  I  mean  to  say,"  ejaculated  the  astounded 
young  man  as  he  walked  across  to  the  switch  and  flooded 
the  room  with  light. 

'*  That  will  do,"  ordered  Mrs.  Chichester,  dismissing  the 
equally  astonished  footman,  who  passed  out,  curiosity  in 
every  feature. 

"  What  are  you  two  girls  playin'  at  ?  "  demanded 
Alaric. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Chichester  se- 
verely. 

"  Sure,  Ethel  heard  me  here,"  answered  Peg,  "  an'  she 
came  in,  an' — " 

"  What  were  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I  was  goin'  out  an'  Ethel  heard  me  an'  came  in  an' 
stopped  me  —  an' — " 

"  Where  were  you  going?  "  persisted  the  old  lady. 

"  Just  out  —  out  there  — "  and  Peg  pointed  to  the 
open  windows. 

Mrs.  Chichester  had  been  examining  Peg  minutely. 
She  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"  Why,  that  is  Ethel's  cloak." 

"  Sure  it  is,"  replied  Peg,  "  and  this  is  her  hat  I've 
got  an'  here's  her  bag  — "  Peg  was  striving  her  utmost 
to  divert  Mrs.  Chichester's  attention  from  Ethel,  who  was 
in  so  tense  and  nervous  a  condition  that  it  seemed  as  if 
she  might  faint  at  any  moment.  She  thrust  the  dressing- 
bag  into  the  old  lady's  hand.  Mrs.  Chichester  opened  it 
immediately  and  found  just  inside  it  Ethel's  jewel-box. 
She  took  it  out  and  held  it  up  accusingly  before  Peg's 
eyes:  "Her  jewel-box!  Where  did  you  get  this?" 


PEG  IX  ENGLAND  275 

"  I  took  it,"  said  Peg  promptly. 

"Took  it?" 

"  Yes,  aunt,  I  took  it !  » 

Mrs.  Chichester  opened  the  box:  it  was  full.  Every 
jewel  that  Ethel  owned  was  in  it. 

"Her  jewels!     Ethel's  jewels?" 

«  Yes  —  I  took  them  too." 

"  You  were  stealing  them  ?  " 

"No.     I  wasn't  stealing  them, —  I  just  took  'em!" 

"  Why  did  you  take  them?  " 

"  I  wanted  —  to  wear  them,"  answered  Peg  readily. 

"Northern?" 

"  Yes  —  wear  them*"  Suddenly  Peg  saw  a  way  of  es- 
cape, and  she  jumped  quickly  at  it.  "  I  wanted  to  wear 
them  at  the  dance." 

"  What  dance  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Chichester,  growing 
more  suspicious  every  moment. 

"  Over  there  —  in  the  Assembly  Rooms.  To-night.  I 
went  over  there,  an'  I  danced.  An'  when  I  came  back  I 
made  a  noise,  an'  Ethel  heard  me,  an'  she  threw  on  some 
clothes,  an'  she  came  in  here  to  see  who  it  was,  an'  it  was 
me,  an'  were  both  goin'  up  to  bed  when  I  slipped  an' 
fell  down  the  stairs,  an'  some  noisy  thing  fell  down  with 
me  —  an'  that's  all." 

Peg  paused  for  want  of  breath.  Ethel  clung  to  her. 
Mrs.  Chichester,  not  by  any  means  satisfied  with  the  ex- 
planation, was  about  to  prosecute  her  inquiries  further, 
when  Alaric  called  out  from  the  window: 

"  There's  some  one  prowling  in  the  garden.  He's  on 
the  path !  He's  coming  here.  Don't  be  frightened, 
mater.  I'll  deal  with  him."  And  he  boldly  went  up  the 
steps  leading  into  the  alcove  to  meet  the  marauder. 

Ethel  half  rose  from  the  chair  and  whispered :  "  Mr. 
Brent!" 


276  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Peg  pressed  her  back  into  the  chair  and  turned  toward 
the  windows. 

On  came  the  footsteps  nearer  and  nearer  until  they 
were  heard  to  be  mounting  the  steps  from  the  garden  into 
the  alcove. 

Alaric  pushed  his  electric  light  full  into  the  visitor's 
face,  and  fell  back. 

"  Good  Lord !  Jerry !  "  he  ej  aculated,  completely 
astonished.  "  I  say,  ye  know,"  he  went  on,  "  what  is 
happening  in  this  house  to-night  ?  " 

Jerry  came  straight  down  to  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  I  saw  your  lights  go  up  and  I  came  here  on  the  run. 
I  guessed  something  like  this  had  happened.  Don't  be 
hard  on  your  niece,  Mrs.  Chichester.  The  whole  thing 
was  entirely  my  fault.  I  asked  her  to  go." 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  at  him  stonily. 

"  You  took  my  niece  to  a  dance  in  spite  of  my  absolute 
refusal  to  allow  her  to  go  ?  " 

"  He  had  nothin'  to  do  with  it,"  said  Peg,  "  I  took 
him  to  that  dance."  She  wasn't  going  to  allow  Jerry  to 
be  abused  without  lodging  a  protest.  After  all  it  was 
her  fault.  She  made  him  take  her.  Very  well  —  she 
would  take  the  blame. 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  steadily  at  Jerry  for  a  few 
moments  before  she  spoke.  When  she  did  speak  her  voice 
was  cold  and  hard  and  accusatory. 

"  Surely,  Sir  Gerald  Adair  knows  better  than  to  take 
a  girl  of  eighteen  to  a  public  ball  without  her  relations' 
sanction?  " 

"  I  thought  only  of  the  pleasure  it  would  give  her," 
he  answered.  "  Please  accept  my  sincerest  apolo- 
gies." 

Peg  looked  at  him  in  wonder: 

"  Sir  Gerald  Adair!     Are  you  Sir  Gerald  Adair?  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  277 

"Yes,  Peg." 

"  So  ye  have  a  title,  have  yez  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer. 

Peg  felt  somehow  that  she  had  been  cheated.  Why  had 
he  not  told  her?  Why  did  he  let  her  play  and  romp  and 
joke  and  banter  with  him  as  though  they  had  been  chil- 
dren and  equals?  It  wasn't  fair!  He  was  just  laughing 
at  her!  Just  laughing  at  her!  All  her  spirit  was  in 
quick  revolt. 

"  Do  you  realise  what  you  have  done  ?  "  broke  in  Mrs. 
Chichester. 

"  I'm  just  beginning  to,"  replied  Peg  bitterly. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you !  You  have  disgraced  us  all !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  Have  I?  "  screamed  Peg  fiercely.  "  Well,  if  I  have 
then  I  am  goin'  back  to  some  one  who'd  never  be  ashamed 
o'  me,  no  matter  what  I  did.  Here  I've  never  been  al- 
lowed to  do  one  thing  I've  wanted  to.  He  lets  me  do 
everything  I  want  because  he  loves  and  trusts  me  an'  what- 
ever I  do  is  right  because  /  do  it.  I've  disgraced  ye,  have 
I?  Well,  none  of  you  can  tell  me  the  truth.  I'm  goin' 
back  to  me  father." 

"  Go  back  to  your  father  and  glad  we  are  to  be  rid  of 
you !  "  answered  Mrs.  Chichester  furiously. 

"  I  am  goin'  back  to  him  — " 

Before  she  could  say  anything  further,  Ethel  sud- 
denly rose  unsteadily  and  cried  out: 

"  Wait,  mother !  She  mustn't  go.  We  have  all  been 
grossly  unfair  to  her.  It  is  /  should  go.  To-night  she 
saved  me  from  —  she  saved  me  from  — "  suddenly  Ethel 
reached  the  breaking-point ;  she  slipped  from  Peg's  arms 
to  the  chair  and  on  to  the  floor  and  lay  quite  still. 

Peg  knelt  down  beside  her: 

"  She's    fainted.     Stand    back  —  give    her    air  —  get 


278  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

some  water,  some  smeDing-salts  —  quick  —  don't  stand 
there  lookin'  at  her :  do  somethin' !  " 

Peg  loosened  Ethel's  dress  and  talked  to  her  all  the 
while,  and  Jerry  and  Alaric  hurried  out  in  different  di- 
rections in  quest  of  restoratives. 

Mrs.  Chichester  came  toward  Ethel,  thoroughly 
alarmed  and  upset. 

But  Peg  would  not  let  her  touch  the  inanimate  girl. 

"  Go  away  from  her  1 "  cried  Peg  hysterically. 
"  What  good  do  ye  think  ye  can  do  her?  What  do  you 
know  about  her?  You  don't  know  anything  about  yer 
children  —  ye  don't  know  how  to  raise  them.  Ye  don't 
know  a  thought  in  yer  child's  mind.  Why  don't  ye  sit 
down  beside  her  sometimes  and  find  out  what  she  thinks 
and  who  she  sees?  Take  her  hand  in  yer  own  and  get 
her  to  open  her  soul  to  ye !  Be  a  mother  to  her !  A  lot 
you  know  about  motherhood !  I  want  to  tell  ye  me  father 
knows  more  about  motherhood  than  any  man  in  the 
wurrld." 

Poor  Mrs.  Chichester  fell  back,  crushed  and  humiliated 
from  Peg's  onslaught. 

In  a  few  moments  the  two  men  returned  with  water 
and  salts.  After  a  while  Ethel  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  up  at  Peg.  Peg,  fearful  lest  she  should  begin  to 
accuse  herself  again,  helped  her  up  the  stairs  to  her  own 
room  and  there  she  sat  beside  the  unstrung,  hysterical 
girl  until  she  slept,  her  hand  locked  in  both  of  Peg's. 

Promising  to  call  in  the  morning,  Jerry  left. 

The  mother  and  son  returned  to  their  rooms. 

The  house  was  still  again. 

But  how  much  had  happened  that  night  that  went  to 
shaping  the  characters  and  lives  of  these  two  young 
girls,  who  were  first  looking  out  at  life  with  the  eyes  and 
minds  of  swiftly  advancing  womanhood! 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  279 

One  thing  Peg  had  resolved:  she  would  not  spend 
another  night  in  the  Chichester  home. 

Her  little  heart  was  bruised  and  sore.  The  night  had 
begun  so  happily:  it  had  ended  so  wretchedly. 

And  to  think  the  one  person  in  whom  she  trusted  had 
been  just  amusing  himself  with  her,  leading  her  to  be- 
lieve he  was  a  farmer  — "  less  than  that "  he  had  once 
said,  and  all  the  time  he  was  a  man  of  breeding  and  of 
birth  and  of  title. 

Poor  Peg  felt  so  humiliated  that  she  made  up  her  mind 
she  would  never  see  him  again. 

In  the  morning  she  would  go  back  to  the  one  real  af- 
fection of  her  life  —  to  the  man  who  never  hurt  or  dis- 
appointed her  —  her  father. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    ROOM    IN    NEW    YORK 

WE  will  now  leave  Peg  for  a  while  and  return  to  one 
who  claimed  so  much  of  the  reader's  attention  in  the  early 
pages  of  this  history  —  O'Connell. 

It  had  not  been  a  happy  month  for  him. 

He  felt  the  separation  from  Peg  keenly.  At  first  he 
was  almost  inconsolable.  He  lived  in  constant  dread  of 
hearing  that  some  untoward  accident  had  befallen  her. 
All  the  days  and  nights  of  that  journey  of  Peg's  to 
England,  O'Connell  had  the  ever-present  premonition  of 
danger.  When  a  cable  came,  signed  '  Montgomery 
Hawkes,'  acquainting  O'Connell  with  the  news  of  Peg's 
safe  arrival,  he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

Then  the  days  passed  slowly  until  Peg's  first  letter 
came.  It  contained  the  news  of  Kingsnorth's  death  — 
Peg's  entrance  into  the  Chichester  family,  her  discontent 
—  her  longing  to  be  back  once  more  in  New  York.  This 
was  followed  by  more  letters  all  more  or  less  in  the  same 
key.  Finally  he  wrote  urging  her  to  give  it  all  up  and 
come  back  to  him.  He  would  not  have  his  little  daughter 
tortured  for  all  the  advantages  those  people  could  give 
her.  Then  her  letters  took  on  a  different  aspect.  They 
contained  a  curious  half-note  of  happiness  in  them.  No 
more  mention  of  returning.  On  the  contrary,  Peg  ap- 
peared to  be  making  the  best  of  the  conditions  in  which 
she  was  placed. 

These  later  letters  sefe  O'Connell  wondering.  Had  the 
great  Message  of  Life  come  to  his  little  Peg? 

Although  he  always  felt  it  "would  come  some  day,  now 

280 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  281 

that  it  seemed  almost  a  very  real  possibility,  he  dreaded  it. 
There  were  so  few  natures  would  understand  her. 

Beneath  all  her  resolute  and  warlike  exterior,  it  would 
take  a  keenly  observing  eye  to  find  the  real,  gentle,  affec- 
tionate nature  that  flourished  in  the  sunshine  of  affection, 
and  would  fret  and  pine  amid  unsympathetic  surround- 
ings. 

That  Peg  was  developing  her  character  and  her  nature 
during  those  few  weeks  was  clear  to  O'Connell.  The 
whole  tone  of  her  letters  had  changed.  But  no  word  of 
hers  gave  him  any  clue  to  the  real  state  of  her  feelings, 
until  one  day  he  received  a  letter  almost  entirely  com- 
posed of  descriptions  of  the  appearance,  mode  of  speech, 
method  of  thought  and  expression  of  one  "  Jerry."  The 
description  of  the  man  appealed  to  him,  he  apparently 
having  so  many  things  in  common  with  the  mysterious 
person  who  had  so  vividly  impressed  himself  on  Peg. 
Apparently  Peg  was  half  trying  to  improve  herself. 
There  was  a  distinct  note  of  seriousness  about  the  last 
letter.  It  was  drawing  near  the  end  of  the  month  and 
she  was  going  to  ask  her  aunt  to  let  her  stay  on  for 
another  month  if  her  father  did  not  mind.  She  did  not 
want  him  to  be  unhappy,  and  if  he  was  miserable  without 
her,  why  she  would  sail  back  to  New  York  on  the  very 
first  steamer.  He  wrote  her  a  long  affectionate  letter, 
telling  her  that  whatever  made  her  happy  would  make 
him,  too,  and  that  she  must  not,  on  any  account,  think 
of  returning  to  New  York  if  she  found  that  she  was  help- 
ing her  future  by  staying  with  her  aunt.  All  through  the 
letter  he  kept  up  apparent  high  spirits,  and  ended  it 
with  a  cheery  exhortation  to  stay  away  from  him  just 
as  long  as  she  could;  not  to  think  of  returning  until  it 
was  absolutely  necessary. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  he  posted  that  letter.     Back 


282  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

of  his  brain  he  had  hoped  all  through  that  month  that 
Peg  would  refuse  to  stay  any  longer  in  England. 

Her  determination  to  stay  was  a  severe  blow  to  him. 

He  lived  entirely  alone  in  the  same  rooms  he  had  with 
Peg  when  she  was  summoned  abroad. 

He  was  preparing,  in  his  spare  time,  a  history  of  the 
Irish  movement  from  twenty  years  before  down  to  the 
present  day.  It  was  fascinating  work  for  him,  embody- 
ing as  it  did  all  he  had  ever  felt  and  thought  or  done  for 
the  "  Great  Cause." 

In  addition  to  this  work  —  that  occupied  so  many  of 
his  free  hours  —  he  would  give  an  occasional  lecture  on 
Irish  conditions  or  take  part  as  adviser  in  some  Irish 
pageant.  He  became  rapidly  one  of  the  best  liked  and 
most  respected  of  the  thoughtful,  active,  executive  Irish- 
men in  New  York  City. 

The  night  of  the  day  following  the  incidents  in  the 
preceding  chapter  —  incidents  that  determined  Peg's  fu- 
ture —  O'Connell  was  sitting  in  his  little  work  room,  sur- 
rounded by  books  of  reference,  and  loose  sheets  of 
manuscript,  developing  his  great  work  —  the  real  work  of 
his  life  —  because  in  it  he  would  incorporate  everything 
that  would  further  the  march  of  advancement  in  Ireland 
—  to  work  and  thought  and  government  by  her  people. 

A  ring  at  the  bell  caused  O'Connell  to  look  up  frown- 
ingly.  He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  receiving  calls.  Few 
people  ever  dared  to  intrude  on  his  privacy.  He  pre- 
ferred to  be  alone  with  his  work.  It  passed  the  time  of 
separation  from  Peg  quicker  than  in  any  other  way. 

He  opened  the  door  and  looked  in  amazement  at  his 
visitor.  He  saw  a  little,  round,  merry-looking,  bald- 
headed  gentleman  with  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  an  enor- 
mous silk-hat,  broad  cloth  frock-coat  suit,  patent  boots 
with  grey  spats  on  them,  and  a  general  air  of  prosperity 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  283 

and  good  nature  that  impressed  itself  on  even  the  most 
casual  observer. 

"Is  that  Frank  O'Cbnnell?"  cried  the  little  man. 

"  It  is,"  said  O'Connell,  trying  in  vain  to  see  the  man's 
features  distinctly  in  the  dim  light.  There  was  a  familiar 
ring  in  his  voice  that  seemed  to  take  O'Connell  back  many 
years. 

"  You're  not  tellin'  me  ye've  forgotten  me  ?  "  asked  the 
little  man,  reproachfully. 

"  Come  into  the  light  and  let  me  see  the  face  of  ye. 
Yer  voice  sounds  familiar  to  me,  I'm  thinkin',"  replied 
O'Connell. 

The  little  man  came  into  the  room,  took  off  his  heavy 
silk-hat  and  looked  up  at  O'Connell  with  a  quizzing  look 
in  his  laughing  eyes. 

"  McGinnis !  "  was  all  the  astonished  agitator  could 
say. 

"  That's  who  it  is !  '  Talkative  McGinnis,'  come  all 
the  way  from  ould  Ireland  to  take  ye  by  the  hand." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  warmly  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments O'Connell  had  the  little  doctor  in  the  most  com- 
fortable seat  in  the  room,  a  cigar  between  his  lips  and  a 
glass  of  whiskey-and-water  at  his  elbow. 

"  An'  what  in  the  wurrld  brings  ye  here,  docthor?  " 
asked  O'Connell. 

"  Didn't  ye  hear?  " 

"  I've  heard  nothin',  I'm  tellin5  ye." 

"  Ye  didn't  hear  of  me  old  grand-uncle,  McNamara  of ' 
County  Sligo  dyin' —  after  a  useless  life  —  and  doin'  the 
only  thing  that  made  me  proud  of  him  now  that  he's 
g0ne  —  may  he  slape  in  peace  —  lavin9  the  money  he'd 
kept  such  a  close  fist  on  all  his  life  to  his  God-fearin' 
nephew  so  that  he  can  spind  the  rest  of  his  days  in  com- 
fort? Didn't  ye  hear  that?" 


284  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I  did  not.  And  who  was  the  nephew  that  came  into 
it?" 

"  Meself ,  Frank  O'Connell !  " 
"  You!     Is  it  the  truth  ye're  tellin'  me?  " 
"  May  I  niwer  spake  another  wurrd  if  I'm  not." 
O'Connell  took  the  little  man's  hand  and  shook  it  until 
the  doctor  screamed  out  to  him  to  let  it  go. 

"  What  are  ye  doin'  at  all  —  crushin'  the  f eelin'  out  of 
me?  Sure  that's  no  way  to  show  yer  appreciation,"  and 
McGinnis  held  the  crushed  hand  to  the  side  of  his  face  in 
pain. 

"  It's  sorry  I  am  if  I  hurt  ye  and  it's  glad  I  am  at  the 
cause.     So  it's  a  wealthy  man  ye  are  now,  docthor,  eh?  " 
"  Middlin'  wealthy." 

"  And  what  are  ye  doin'  in  New  York  ?  " 
"  Sure    this    is   the   counthry   to   take   money   to.     It 
doubles  itself  out  here  over  night,  they  tell  me." 

"  Yer  takin'  it  away  from  the  land  of  yer  birth  ?  " 
"  That's  what  I'm  doin'  —  until  I  make  it  into  enough 
where  I  can  go  back  and  do  some  good.     It's  tired  I  am 
of  blood-lettin',  and  patchin'  up  the  sick  and  ailin',  fevers 
an'  all.     I've  got  a  few  years  left  to  en j  oy  meself  —  an' 
I'm  seventy  come  November  —  an'  I  mane  to  do  it." 
"How  did  ye  find  me?" 

"  Who  should  I  meet  in  the  sthreet  this  mornin' —  an' 
me  here  a  week  —  but  Patrick  Kinsella,  big  as  a  house 
and  his  face  all  covered  in  whiskers  —  him  that  I  took 
into  me  own  home  the  night  they  cracked  his  skull  up 
beyant  the  hill  when  O'Brien  came  to  talk  to  us. 

"  *  What  are  yer  doin'  here  at  all  ?  '  sez  I.  '  Faith, 
it's  the  f  oine  thing  I'm  in,'  sez  he.  '  An'  what  is  it  ?  '  sez  I. 
*  Politics ! '  sez  he,  with  a  knowin'  grin.  '  Politics  is  it?  ' 
I  asks,  all  innocent  as  a  baby.  '  That's  what  I'm  doin',' 
sez  he.  '  An'  I  want  to  tell  ye  the  Irish  are  wastin'  their 


time  worryin-  their  heads  over  their  own  country  when 
here's  a  great  foine  beautiful  rich  one  over  here  just  ripe, 
an'  waitin'  to  be  plucked.  What  wud  we  be  doin'  tryin' 
to  run  Ireland  when  we  can  run  America.  Answer  me 
that,' sez  he.  '  Run  America?  '  sez  I,  all  dazed.  'That's 
what  the  Irish  are  doin'  this  minnit.  Ye'd  betther  get 
on  in  while  the  goin's  good.  It's  a  wondherful  melon  the 
Irish  are  gom'  to  cut  out  here  one  o'  these  fine  days,' 
an'  he  gave  me  a  knowin'  grin,  shouted  to  me  where  he 
was  to  be  found  and  away  he  wint. 

"  There's  many  a  backslider  from  the  '  Cause  '  out  here, 
I'm  thinkin',"  continued  the  doctor. 

"  If  it's  me  ye  mane,  ye're  wrong.     I'm  no  backslider." 

"  Kinsella  towld  me  where  to  find  ye.  Sure  it's  many's 
the  long  day  since  ye  lay  on  yer  back  in  '  The  Gap  ' 
with  yer  hide  full  o'  lead,  and  ye  cursin'  the  English  •gov- 
ernment. Ye  think  different  now  maybe  to  what  ye  <?id 
then?" 

"  Sure  I  think  different.  Other  times,  other  "Ways. 
But  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  methods  of  twenty  years  ago 
we  wouldn't  be  doin'  things  so  peaceably  now.  It  was 
the  attitude  of  Irishmen  in  Ireland  that  made  them  legis- 
late for  us.  It  wasn't  the  Irish  members  in  Westminster 
that  did  it." 

"  That's  thrue  for  ye." 

"  It  was  the  pluck  —  and  determination  —  and  states- 
manship —  and  unflinchin'  not-to-be-quieted-or-deterred 
attitude  of  them  days  that's  brought  the  goal  we've  all 
been  aimin'  at  in  sight.  An'  it's  a  happier  an'  more 
contented  an'  healthier  an'  cleaner  Ireland  we're  seein' 
to-day  than  the  wun  we  had  to  face  as  childhren." 

"  Thrue  for  ye  agen.  I  see  ye've  not  lost  the  gift  o' 
the  gab.  Ye've  got  it  with  ye  still,  Frank  O'Connell." 

"  Faith  an'  while  I'm  talkin'  of  the  one  thing  in  the 


286  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

wurrld  that's  near  our  hearts  —  the  future  of  Ireland  — 
I  want  to  prophesy  — " 

**  Prophesy  is  it?  " 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  do." 

"  An'  what's  it  ye'd  be  af ther  prophesying  ?  " 

"  This :  that  ten  years  from  now,  with  her  own  Gov- 
ernment, with  her  own  language  back  again  —  Gaelic  — 
an'  what  language  in  the  wurrld  yields  greater  music 
than  the  old  Gaelic  ?  —  with  Ireland  united  and  Ireland's 
land  in  the  care  of  Irishmen:  with  Ireland's  people  self- 
respectin'  an'  sober  an'  healthy  an'  educated:  with 
Irishmen  employed  on  Irish  industries,  exportin'  them 
all  over  the  wurrld:  with  Ireland's  heart  beatin'  with 
hope  an'  faith  in  the  future  —  do  ye  know  what  will 
happen  ?  " 

"Go  on,  Frank  O'Connell.  I  love  to  listen  to  ye. 
I^on't  stop," 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  will  happen !  Back  will  go  the 
Irishmen  in  tens  o'  thousands  from  all  the  other 
counthries  they  were  dhriven  to  in  the  days  o'  famine 
an'  oppression  an'  coercion  an'  buck-shot  —  back  they 
will  go  to  their  mother  counthry.  An'  can  ye  see  far 
enough  into  the  future  to  realise  what  that  will  do?  Ye 
can't.  Well,  I'll  tell  ye  that,  too.  The  exiled  Irish,  who 
have  lived  their  lives  abroad  —  takin'  their  wives,  like 
as  not,  from  the  people  o'  the  counthry  they  lived  in  an' 
not  from  their  own  stock  —  when  they  go  back  to  Ire- 
land with  different  outlooks,  with  different  manners  an' 
with  different  tastes,  so  long  as  they've  kept  the  hearts 
o'  them  thrue  an'  loyal  —  just  so  long  as  they've  done 
that  —  an'  kept  the  Faith  o'  their  forefathers  —  they'll 
form  a  new  Nation^  an'  a  Nation  with  all  the  best  o'  the 
old  —  the  great  big  Faith  an'  Hope  o'  the  old  — ' 
added  to  the  prosperity  an'  education  an'  business- 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  287 

like  principles  an'  statesmanship  o'  the  New  —  an'  it's 
the  blood  o'  the  great  Old  an'  the  power  o'  the  great  New 
that'll  make  the  Ireland  o'  the  future  one  o'  the  greatest 
Nations  in  Peace  as  she  has  always  been  in  War." 

O'Connell's  voice  died  away  as  he  looked  out  across 
the  years  to  come.  And  the  light  of  prophecy  shone  in 
his  eyes,  and  the  eerie  tone  of  the  seer  was  in  his  voice. 

It  was  the  Ireland  he  had  dreamed  of!  Ireland  free, 
prosperous,  contented  —  happy.  Ireland  speaking  and 
writing  in  her  national  tongue!  Ireland  with  all  the 
depth  of  the  poetic  nature  of  the  peasant  equal  to  the 
peer!  Ireland  handling  her  own  resources,  developing 
her  own  national  character,  responsible  before  the  World 
and  not  to  an  alien  nation  for  her  acts  —  an  Ireland 
triumphant. 

Even  if  he  would  not  live  to  see  the  golden  harvest 
ripen  he  felt  proud  to  be  one  of  those  who  helped,  in 
the  days  of  stress  that  were  gone,  her  people,  to  the 
benefiting  of  the  future  generations,  who  would  have  a 
legacy  of  development  by  pacific  measures,  what  he  and 
his  forefathers  strove  to  accomplish  by  the  loss  of  their 
liberty  and  the  shedding  of  their  blood. 

"  Sure  it's  the  big  position  they  should  give  you  on 
College  Green  when  they  get  their  own  government  again, 
Frank  O'Connell,"  the  little  doctor  said,  shaking  his  head 
knowingly. 

"  The  race  has  been  everythin'  to  me :  the  prize  —  if 
there's  one  — 'ud  be  nothin'.  A  roof  to  me  head  and  a 
bite  to  eat  is  all  I  need  by  day  —  so  long  as  the  little  girl 
is  cared  for." 

"  An'  where  is  the  little  blue-eyed  maiden  ?  Peg  o' 
your  heart?  Where  is  she  at  all?" 

"  It's  in  London  she  is." 

"  London ! " 


288  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Aye.  She's  with  an  aunt  o'  hers  bein'  educated  an' 
the  like." 

"  Is  it  English  ye're  goin'  to  bring  her  up  ?  "  cried  the 
doctor  in  horror  and  disgust. 

"  No,  it's  not,  Docthor  McGinnis  —  an'  ye  ought  to 
know  me  betther  than  to  sit  there  an'  ask  me  such  a  ques- 
tion. Bring  her  up  English?  when  the  one  regret  o'  me 
life  is  I  never  knew  enough  Gaelic  to  tache  her  the  lan- 
guage so  that  we'd  be  free  of  the  English  speech  anyway. 
Bring  her  up  English !  I  never  heard  the  like  o'  that  in 
me  life." 

"  Then  what  is  she  doin'  there  at  all?  " 

"  Now  listen,  McGinnis,  and  listen  well  —  an'  then 
ye'll  never  ask  such  a  question  again.  When  the  good 
Lord  calls  me  to  Himself  it's  little  enough  I'll  have  to  lave 
me  little  Peg.  An'  that  thought  has  been  throublin'  me 
these  years  past.  I'm  not  the  kind  that  makes  money 
easily  or  that  kapes  the  little  I  earn.  An'  the  chance 
came  to  give  Peg  advantages  I  could  never  give  her.  Her 
mother's  people  offered  to  take  her  and  it's  with  them  she 
has  been  this  last  month.  But  with  all  their  breedin'  an' 
their  fine  manners  and  soft  speech  they've  not  changed 
Peg  —  not  changed  her  in  the  least.  Her  letthers  to  me 
are  just  as  sweet  an'  simple  as  if  she  were  standin'  there 
talkin'  to  me.  An'  I  wish  she  were  standin'  here  —  now 
—  this  minnit,"  and  his  eyes  filled  up  and  he  turned  away. 

McGinnis  jumped  up  quickly  and  turned  the  tall, 
bronzed  man  around  with  a  hand  on  each  shoulder  — 
though  he  had  to  stand  tip-toe  to  do  it,  and  poured  forth 
his  feelings  as  follows: 

"  Send  for  her !  Bring  her  back  to  ye !  Why  man, 
yer  heart  is  heavy  without  her;  aye,  just  as  yer  hair 
is  goin'  grey,  so  is  yer  life  without  the  one  thing 
in  it  that  kapes  it  warm  and  bright.  Send  for 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  289 

her!  Don't  let  the  Saxons  get  hold  of  her  with  their 
flattherin'  ways  and  their  insincerities,  an'  all.  Bring 
her  back  to  ye  and  kape  her  with  ye  until  the  right  man 
comes  along  —  an'  he  must  be  an  Irishman  —  straight 
of  limb  an'  of  character  —  with  the  joy  of  livin'  in  his 
heart  and  the  love  of  yer  little  girl  first  to  him  in  the 
wurrld,  an'  then  ye'll  know  ye've  done  the  right  thing  by 
her ;  for  it's  the  only  happiness  yer  Peg'll  ever  know  —  to 
be  an  Irish  wife  an'  an  Irish  mother  as  well  as  an  Irish 
daughther.  Send  for  her  —  I'm  tellin'  ye,  Frank  O'Con- 
nell,  or  it's  the  sore  rod  ye'll  be  makin'  for  yer  own 
back." 

McGinnis's  words  sank  in. 

When  they  parted  for  the  night  with  many  promises 
to  meet  again  ere  long,  O'Connell  sat  down  and  wrote 
Peg  a  long  letter,  leaving  the  choice  in  her  hands,  but 
telling  her  how  much  he  would  like  to  have  her  back  with 
him.  He  wrote  the  letter  again  and  again  and  each  time 
destroyed  it.  It  seemed  so  clumsy. 

It  was  so  hard  to  express  just  what  he  felt.  He  decided 
to  leave  it  until  morning. 

All  that  night  he  tossed  about  in  feverish  unrest.  He 
could  not  sleep.  He  had  a  feeling  of  impending  ca- 
lamity. 

Toward  dawn  he  woke,  and  lighting  a  lamp  wrote  out 
a  cable  message: 

Miss  Margaret  O'Connell 
c/o  Mrs.  Chichester 

Regal  Villa,  Scarboro,  England 
Please  come  back  to  me.     I  want  you.     Love  from 

YOUR  AFFECTIONATE  FATHER. 

Relieved  in  his  mind,  he  put  the  message  on  the  table, 
intending  to  send  it  on  his  way  to  business. 


290  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Then  he  slept  until  breakfast-time  without  a  dream. 

His  Peg  would  get  the  message  and  she  would  come  to 
him. 

At  breakfast  a  cable  was  brought  to  him. 

He  opened  it  and  looked  in  bewilderment  at  the  con- 
tents : 

"  Sailing  to-day  for  New  York  on  White  Star  boat  Celtic. 
Love.  PEG." 


.  f 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   MOENING   AFTEE 

THE  morning  after  the  incident  following  Peg's  dis- 
obedience in  going  to  the  dance,  and  her  subsequent 
rebellion  and  declaration  of  independence,  found  all 
the  inmates  of  Regal  Villa  in  a  most  unsettled  con-i 
dition. 

Peg  had, —  as  was  indicated  in  a  preceding  chapter  — > 
remained  by  Ethel's  side  until  morning,  when,  seeing  that 
her  cousin  was  sleeping  peacefully,  she  had  gone  to  her 
own  room  to  prepare  for  her  leaving. 

One  thing  she  was  positive  about  —  she  would  take 
nothing  out  of  that  house  she  did  not  bring  into  it  — 
even  to  a  heartache. 

She  entered  the  family  a  month  before  sore  at  heart  — 
well,  she  was  leaving  it  in  a  like  condition. 

Whilst  she  was  making  her  few  little  preparations,  Mrs. 
Chichester  was  reviewing  the  whole  situation  in  her  room. 
She  was  compelled  to  admit,  however  outraged  her  feel- 
ings may  have  been  the  previous  night,  that  should  Peg 
carry  out  her  intention  to  desert  them,  the  family  would 
be  in  a  parlous  condition.  The  income  from  Mr.  Kings- 
north's  will  was  indeed  the  one  note  of  relief  to  the  dis- 
tressed household.  She  had  passed  a  wretched  night,  and 
after  a  cup  of  tea  in  her  room,  and  a  good  long  period  of 
reflection,  she  decided  to  seek  the  aid  of  the  head  of  the 
family  —  her  son. 

She  found  him  in  the  morning-room  lying  full  length 
on  a  lounge  reading  the  "  Post." 

He  jumped  up  directly  he  saw  her,  led  her  over  to  the 

291 


292  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

lounge,  kissed  her,  put  her  down  gently  beside  him  and 
asked  her  how  she  was  feeling. 

"  I  didn't  close  my  eyes  all  night,"  answered  the  un- 
happy old  lady. 

"Isn't  that  rotten?"  said  Alaric  sympathetically. 
"  I  was  a  bit  plungy  myself  —  first  one  side  and  then  the 
other."  And  he  yawned  and  stretched  languidly. 
"  Hate  to  have  one's  night's  rest  broken,"  he  concluded. 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  at  him  sadly. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  she  asked,  despair  in  every 
note. 

"  We  must  get  in  forty  winks  during  the  day  some 
time,"  he  replied,  encouragingly. 

"  No,  no,  Alaric.     I  mean   about  Margaret?  " 

"Oh!  The  imp?  Nothin'  that  I  can  see.  She's 
got  it  into  her  stubborn  little  head  that  she's  had  enough 
of  us,  and  that's  the  end  of  it ! " 

"  And  the  end  of  our  income,"  summed  up  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester, pathetically. 

"  Well,  you  were  a  bit  rough  on  her,  mater.  Now,  I 
come  to  think  of  it  we've  all  been  a  bit  rough  on  her  — 
except  me.  I've  made  her  laugh  once  or  twice  —  poor 
Httle  soul.  After  all,  suppose  she  did  want  to  dance? 
What's  the  use  of  fussing?  Let  her,  7  say.  Let  her. 
Better  she  should  dance  and  stay,  than  for  us  to  starve  if 
she  goes." 

"  Don't  reproach  me,  dear.  I  did  my  duty.  How 
could  I  consent  to  her  going  ?  A  girl  of  her  age !  " 

"  Girl !  Why,  they're  grown  women  with  families  in 
America  at  her  age." 

"  Thank  God  they're  not  in  England." 

"  They  will  be  some  day,  mater.  They're  kickin'  over 
the  traces  more  and  more  every  day.  Watch  'em  in  a 
year  or  two,  I  say,  watch  'em.  One  time  women  kept 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  293 

on  the  pavement.  Now  they're  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  —  and  in  thousands!  Mark  me!  What  ho!" 

"  They  are  not  ivomenl  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Chichester 
severely. 

"  Oh,  bless  me,  yes.  They're  women  all  right.  I've 
met  'em.  Listened  to  'em  talk.  Some  of  'em  were  rip- 
pers. Why,  there  was  one  girl  I  really  have  rather  a  fash 
on.  Great  big  girl  she  is  with  a  deep  voice.  She  had 
me  all  quivery  for  a  while."  And  his  mind  ran  back  over 
his  "  Militant  "  past  and  present. 

"  Just  when  I  had  begun  to  have  some  hope  of  her ! " 
Alaric  started. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  met  her.  Do  you  know  Marjory 
Fairbanks  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Chichester,  almost  sharply :  "  I 
mean  Margaret." 

"Oh!  The  little  devil?  Did  ye?  I  never  did.  Not 
a  hope!  I've  always  felt  she  ought  to  have  the  inscrip- 
tion on  dear  old  Shakespeare's  grave  waving  in  front  of 
her  all  the  time  - — *  Good  friend,  for  Heaven's  sake  for- 
bear.' There's  no  hope  for  her,  mater.  Believe  me." 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  under  our  influence  —  in 
time  — " 

"  Don't  you  think  it.  She  will  always  be  a  Peter  Pan. 
Never  grow  up.  She'd  play  elfish  tricks  if  she  had  a 
nursery  full  of  infants." 

"  But,"  persisted  the  old  lady,  "  some  good  man  — 
one  day  might  change  that." 

"  Ah !  But  where  is  he  ?  Good  men  who'd  take  a  girl 
like  that  in  hand  are  very  scarce,  mater  —  very  scarce 
indeed.  Oh,  no.  Back  she  goes  to  America  to-day,  and 
off  /  go  to-morrow  to  work.  Must  hold  the  roof  up, 
mater,  and  pacify  the  tradesmen.  I've  given  up  the  doc- 
tor idea  —  takes  too  long  to  make  anything.  And  it's 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

not  altogether  a  nice  way  to  earn  jour  living.  No;  on 
the  whole,  I  think  —  Canada.  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Chichester  rose  in  alarm: 

"  Canada !  my  boy !  " 

"  Nice  big  place  —  plenty  of  room.  We're  all  so 
•crowded  together  here  in  England.  All  the  professions 
are  chock-full  with  people  waitiri*  to  squeeze  in  some- 
where. 

"  Give  me  the  new  big  countries !  England  is  too  old 
and  small.  A  fellow  with  my  temperament  can  hardly 
turn  round  and  take  a  full  breath  in  an  island  our  size. 
Out  there,  with  millions  of  acres  to  choose  from,  I'll  just 
•squat  down  on  a  thousand  or  so,  raise  cattle,  and  in  a 
year  or  two  I'll  be  quite  independent.  Then  back  I'll 
•come  here  and  invest  it.  See?  " 

"  Don't  go  away  from  me,  Alaric.  I  couldn't  bear 
that." 

"  All  right  —  if  you  say  so,  mater.  But  it  does  seem 
a  shame  to  let  all  that  good  land  go  to  waste  when  it  can 
•be  had  for  the  asking. 

"  Well,  I'll  wander  round  the  fields  for  a  bit,  and 
thrash  it  all  out.  'Stonishing  how  clear  a  fellow's  head 
gets  in  the  open  air.  Don't  you  worry,  mater  —  I'll  beat 
ihe  whole  thing  out  by  myself." 

He  patted  the  old  lady  gently  on  the  shoulder,  and 
humming  a  music-hall  ballad  cheerfully,  started  off  into 
the  garden.  He  had  only  gone  a  few  steps  when  his 
mother  called  to  him.  He  stopped.  She  joined  him 
excitedly. 

"Oh,  Alaric!  There  is  a  wa?/-^-one  way  that  would 
save  us."  And  she  trembled  as  she  paused,  as  if  afraid 
to  tell  him  what  the  alternative  was. 

"  Is  there,  mater?     What  is  it?  " 

"  It  rests  with  you,  dear." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 

"Does  it?     Very  good.     I'll  do  it." 

"Will  you?" 

"  Honour  bright,  I  will." 

"Whatever  it  is?" 

"  To  save  you  and  Ethel  and  the  roof,  'course  I  will. 
Now  you've  got  me  all  strung  up.  Let  me  hear  it." 

She  drew  him  into  a  little  arbour  in  the  rose-garden  out 
of  sight  and  hearing  of  the  open  windows. 

"  Alaric  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  tone  that  suggested  their 
fate  hung  on  his  answer:  "Alaric!  Do  you  like  her?" 

"Like  whom?" 

"Margaret!     Do  you?" 

"  Here  and  there.  She  amuses  me  like  anything  at 
times.  She  drew  a  map  of  Europe  once  that  I  think  was 
the  most  fearful  and  wonderful  thing  I  have  ever  seen. 
She  said  it  was  the  way  her  father  would  like  to  see  Eu- 
rope. She  had  England,  Scotland  and  Wales  in  Ger-1 
many,  and  the  rest  of  the  map  was  Ireland.  Made  me 
laugh  like  anything."  And  he  chuckled  at  the  remem- 
brance. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Chichester  placed  both  of  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes  exclaimed: 

"  Oh  !  my  boy !     Alaric !     My  son !  " 

"Hello!"  cried  the  astonished  youth.  "What  is  it? 
You're  not  goin'  to  cry,  are  ye  ?  " 

She  was  already  weeping  copiously  as  she  gasped  be- 
tween her  sobs: 

"  Oh !     If  you  only  could." 

"  Could?     What?  " 

"  Take  that  little  wayward  child  into  your  life  and 
mould  her." 

"  Here,  one  moment,  mater?  let  me  get  the  full  forces 
of  your  idea.  You  want  me  to  faould  Margaret?  '* 

"  Yes,  dear." 


296  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Ha !  "  he  laughed  uneasily.  Then  said  decidedly : 
"  No,  mater,  no.  I  can  do  most  things,  but  as  a 
moulder  —  oh,  no.  Let  Ethel  do  it  —  if  she'll  stay, 
that  is." 

"  Alaric,  my  dear  —  I  mean  to  take  her  really  into 
your  life  — '  to  have  and  to  hold.' '  And  she  looked 
pleadingly  at  him  through  her  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

"  But,  I  don't  want  to  hold  her,  mater !  "  reasoned  her 
son. 

"  It  would  be  the  saving  of  her,"  urged  the  old  lady. 

"  That's  all  very  well,  but  what  about  me?  " 

"  It  would  be  the  saving  of  us  all ! "  she  insisted  signifi- 
cantly. 

But  Alaric  was  still  obtuse. 

"  Now,  how  would  my  holding  and  moulding  Margaret 
save  its?  " 

The  old  lady  placed  her  cards  deliberately  on  the  table 
as  she  said  sententiously : 

"  She  would  stay  with  us  here  —  if  you  -were  —  engaged 
to  her!" 

The  shock  had  come.  His  mother's  terrible  alterna- 
tive was  now  before  him  in  all  its  naked  horror.  A  shiver 
ran  through  him.  The  thought  of  a  man,  with  a  future 
as  brilliant  as  his,  being  blighted  at  the  outset  by  such 
a  mesalliance. 

He  felt  the  colour  leave  his  face. 

He  knew  he  was  ghastly  pale. 

The  little  arbour  seemed  to  close  in  on  him  and  stifle 
him. 

He  could  scarcely  breathe. 

He  murmured,  his  eyes  half  closed,  as  if  picturing  some 
vivid  nightmare : 

"  Engaged!  Don't,  mother,  please."  He  trembled 
again :  "  Good  lord !  Engaged  to  that  tomboy !  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  297 

The  thought  seemed  to  strike  him  to  the  very  core  of 
his  being.  He  who  might  ally  himself  with  anyone  sacri- 
ficing his  hopes  of  happiness  and  advancement  with  a 
child  of  the  earth. 

"  Don't,  mother !  "  he  repeated  in  a  cry  of  entreaty. 

"  She  has  the  blood  of  the  Kingsnorths ! "  reminded 
Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  It  is  pretty  well  covered  up  in  O'Connell  Irish,"  re- 
plied Alaric  bitterly.  "  Please  don't  say  any  more,  ma- 
ter. You  have  upset  me  for  the  day.  Really,  you  have 
• —  for  the  whole  day." 

But  his  mother  was  not  to  be  shaken  so  easily  in  her 
determination.  She  went  on: 

"  She  has  the  breeding  of  my  sister  Angela,  dear." 

"  You  wouldn't  think  it  to  watch  her  and  listen  to  her. 
Now,  once  and  for  all  — "  and  he  tried  to  pass  his  mother 
and  go  into  the  garden. 

There  was  no  escape.     Mrs.  Chichester  held  him  firmly. 

"  She  will  have  five  thousand  pounds  a  year  when  she 
is  twenty-one ! " 

She  looked  the  alarmed  youth  straight  in  the  eyes. 
She  was  fighting  for  her  own.  She  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  parting  with  this  home  where  she  had  lived  so 
happily  with  her  husband,  and  where  her  two  children 
were  born  and  reared.  Even  though  Peg  was  not  of  the 
same  caste,  much  could  be  done  with  her.  Once  accept 
her  into  the  family  and  the  rest  would  be  easy. 

As  she  looked  piercingly  into  Alaric's  eyes,  he  caught 
the  full  significance  of  the  suggestion.  His  lips  pursed 
to  whistle  —  but  no  sound  came  through  them.  He  mut- 
tered hoarsely,  as  though  he  were  signing  away  his  right 
to  happiness: 

"  Five  thousand  pounds  a  year !  Five  thousand  of 
the  very  best !  " 


#98  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Mrs.  Chichester  took  the  slowly  articulated  words  in 
token  of  acceptance.  He  would  do  it !  She  knew  he 
would !  Always  ready  to  rise  to  a  point  of  honour  and  to 
face  a  duty  or  confront  a  danger,  he  was  indeed  her  son. 

She  took  him  in  her  arms  and  pressed  his  reluctant 
and  shrinking  body  to  her  breast. 

"  Oh,  my  boy !  "  she  wailed  joyfully.  "  My  dear,  dear 
boy!" 

Alaric  disengaged  himself  alertly. 

"  Here,  half  a  minute,  mater.  Half  a  minute,  please. 
One  can't  burn  all  one's  boats  like  that,  without  a  cry  for 
help." 

"  Think  what  it  would  mean,  dear !  Your  family  pre- 
served, and  a  brand  snatched  from  the  burning !  " 

"  That's  just  it.  It's  all  right  savin'  the  family.  Any 
<:ove'll  do  that  at  a  pinch.  But  I  do  not  see  myself  as 
a  '  brand-snatcher.'  Besides,  I  am  not  altogether  at  lib- 
erty." 

"What?"  cried  his  mother. 

"  Oh,  I've  not  committed  myself  to  anything.  But 
I've  been  three  times  to  hear  that  wonderful  woman  speak 
* —  once  on  the  platform!  And  people  are  beginning  to 
talk.  She  thinks  no  end  of  me.  Sent  me  a  whole  lot  of 
stuff  last  week  — '  Advanced  Literature  '  she  calls  it. 
I've  got  'em  all  upstairs.  Wrote  every  word  of  'em  her- 
self. Never  saw  a  woman  who  can  talk  and  write  as  she 
can.  And  outside  of  all  that  I'm  afraid  I've  more  or  less 
encouraged  her.  And  there  you  are  —  the  whole  thing 
in  a  nutshell." 

"  It  would  unite  our  blood,  Alaric,"  the  fond  mother 
insisted. 

"  Oh,  hang  our  blood !  I  beg  your  pardon,  mater, 
but  really  I  can't  make  our  blood  the  first  thing." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND 

"  It  would  settle  you  for  life,  dear,"  she  suggested 
after  a  pause. 

"  I'd  certainly  be  settled  all  right,"  in  a  despairing, 
tone. 

"  Think  what  it  would  mean,  Alaric." 

"  I  am,  mater.  I'm  thinking  —  and  thinking  awfully 
hard.  Now,  just  a  moment.  Don't  let  either  of  us 
talk.  Just  let  us  think.  /  know  how  much  is  at  stake 
for  the  family,  and  you  realise  how  much  is  at  stake  for 
me,  don't  you?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do.  And  if  I  didn't  think  you  would  be 
happy  I  would  not  allow  it  —  indeed  I  wouldn't." 

Alaric  thought  for  a  few  moments. 

The  result  of  this  mental  activity  took  form  and  sub- 
stance as  follows: 

"  She  is  not  half-bad-lookin' —  at  times  - —  when  she's 
properly  dressed." 

"  I've  seen  her  look  almost  beautiful!  "  cried  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester. 

Alaric  suddenly  grew  depressed. 

"  Shockin'  temper,  mater ! "  and  he  shook  his  head 
despondently. 

"  That  would  soften  under  the  restraining  hand  of  af- 
fection ! "  reasoned  his  mother. 

"  She  would  have  to  dress  her  hair  and  drop  dogs.  I 
will  not  have  a  dog  all  over  the  place,  and  I  do  like  tidi- 
ness in  women.  Especially  their  hair.  In  that  I  would 
have  to  be  obeyed." 

"  The  woman  who  loves  always  obeys! "  cried  his 
mother. 

"  Ah !  There  we  have  it !  "  And  Alaric  sprang  up 
and  faced  the  old  lady.  "  There  we  have  it !  Does  she 
love  me?  " 


300  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  fondly  at  her  only  son  and 
answered : 

"  How  could  she  be  near  you  for  the  last  month  and 
not  love  you?  " 

Alaric  nodded: 

"  Of  course  there  is  that.  Now,  let  me  see  —  just  get 
a  solid  grip  on  the  whole  thing.  //  she  loves  me  —  and 
taking  all  things  into  consideration  —  for  your  sake  and 
darling  Ethel's  —  and  for  my  —  that  is  — " 

He  suddenly  broke  off,  took  his  mother's  hand  between 
both  of  his  and  pressed  it  encouragingly,  and  with  the 
courage  of  hopefulness,  he  said: 

"  Anyway,  mater,  it's  a  go !  I'll  do  it.  It  will  take  a 
bit  of  doin',  but  I'll  do  it." 

"  Bless  you,  my  boy,"  said  the  overjoyed  mother, 
"  Bless  you." 

As  they  came  out  of  the  little  arbour  it  seemed  as  if 
Fate  had  changed  the  whole  horizon  for  the  Chichester 
family. 

Mrs.  Chichester  was  happy  in  the  consciousness  that 
her  home  and  her  family  would  be  free  from  the  biting 
grip  of  debt. 

Alaric,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  have  all  the  sun- 
light suddenly  stricken  out  of  his  life.  Still,  it  was  his 
duty,  and  duty  was  in  the  Chichester  motto. 

As  mother  and  son  walked  slowly  toward  the  house, 
they  looked  up,  and  gazing  through  a  tiny  casement  of 
the  little  Mauve-Room  was  Peg,  her  face  white  and  drawn. 

Alaric  shivered  again  as  he  thought  of  his  sacrifice. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ALARIC    TO    THE    RESCUE 

MRS.  CHICHESTER  went  up  to  the  Mauve-Room  a  little 
later  and  found  Peg  in  the  same  attitude,  looking  out  of 
the  window  —  thinking. 

"  Good  morning,  Margaret,"  she  began,  and  her  tone 
was  most  conciliatory,  not  to  say  almost  kindly. 

"  Good  mornin',"  replied  Peg  dully. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  little  harsh  with  you  last  night," 
the  old  lady  added.  It  was  the  nearest  suggestion  of  an 
apology  Mrs.  Chichester  had  ever  made. 

"  Ye'll  never  be  again,"  flashed  back  Peg  sharply. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  was  saying  to  Alaric.  I  shall 
never  be  harsh  with  you  again.  Never ! " 

If  Mrs.  Chichester  thought  the  extraordinary  unbend- 
ing would  produce  an  equally  Christian-like  spirit  in 
Peg,  she  was  unhappily  mistaken.  Peg  did  not  vary  her 
tone  or  her  attitude.  Both  were  absolutely  uncompro- 
mising. 

"  Ye'll  have  to  go  to  New  York  if  ye  ever  want  to  be 
harsh  with  me  again.  That  is  where  ye'll  have  to  go. 
To  New  York." 

"  You  are  surely  not  going  to  leave  us  just  on  account 
of  a  few  words  of  correction?  "  reasoned  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  I  am,"  replied  Peg,  obstinately.  "  An*  ye've  done 
all  the  correctin'  ye'll  ever  do  with  me." 

"  Have  you  thought  of  all  you  are  giving  up?  " 

"  I  thought  all  through  the  night  of  what  I  am  going 
back  to.  And  I  am  going  back  to  it  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Hawkes  comes.  And  now,  if  ye  don't  mind,  I'd  rather 

301 


302  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

be  left  alone.  I  have  a  whole  lot  to  think  about,  an' 
they're  not  very  happy  thoughts,  ayther  —  an'  I'd  rather 
be  by  meself  —  if  ye  plaze." 

There  was  a  final  air  of  dismissal  about  Peg  that  aston- 
ished and  grieved  the  old  lady.  How  their  places  had 
changed  in  a  few  hours !  Yesterday  it  was  Mrs.  Chiches- 
ter  who  commanded  and  Peg  who  obeyed  —  sometimes. 

Now,  she  was  being  sent  out  of  a  room  in  her  own 
house,  and  by  her  poor  little  niece. 

As  she  left  the  room  Mrs.  Chichester  thought  sadly  of 
the  condition  misfortune  had  placed  her  in.  She  bright- 
ened as  she  realised  that  they  had  still  one  chance  — 
through  Alaric  —  of  recouping,  even  slightly,  the  family 
fortunes.  The  thought  flashed  through  Mrs.  Chichester's 
mind  of  how  little  Margaret  guessed  what  an  honour  was 
about  to  be  conferred  upon  her  through  the  nobility  of 
her  son  in  sacrificing  himself  on  the  altar  of  duty.  The 
family  were  indeed  repaying  good  for  evil  —  extending 
the  olive  branch  —  in  tendering  their  idol  as  a  peace- 
offering  at  the  feet  of  the  victorious  Peg. 

Meanwhile,  that  young  lady  had  suddenly  remembered 
two  things  —  firstly  —  that  she  must  not  return  to  her 
father  in  anything  Mrs.  Chichester  had  given  her.  Out 
of  one  of  the  drawers  she  took  the  little  old  black  jacket 
and  skirt  and  the  flat  low  shoes  and  the  red-flowered  hat. 
Secondly,  it  darted  through  her  mind  that  she  had  left 
Jerry's  present  to  her  in  its  familiar  hiding-place  beneath 
a  corner  of  the  carpet.  Not  waiting  to  change  into  the 
shabby  little  dress,  she  hurried  downstairs  into  the  empty 
living-room,  ran  across,  and  there,  sure  enough,  was  her 
treasure  undisturbed.  She  took  it  up  and  a  pang  went 
through  her  heart  as  it  beat  in  on  her  that  never  again 
would  its  donor  discuss  its  contents  with  her.  This 
gentleman  of  title,  masquerading  as  a  farmer,  who  had 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  303 

led  her  on  to  talk  of  herself,  of  her  country  and  of  her 
father,  just  to  amuse  himself.  The  blood  surged  up  to 
her  temples  as  she  thought  how  he  must  have  laughed 
at  her  when  he  was  away  from  her:  though  always  when 
with  her  he  showed  her  the  gravest  attention,  and  con- 
sideration, and  courtesy.  It  was  with  mingled  feelings 
she  walked  across  the  room,  the  book  open  in  her  hand, 
her  eyes  scanning  some  of  the  familiar  and  well-remem- 
bered lines. 

As  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  Alaric  came  in 
quickly  through  the  windows. 

"  Hello  1  Margaret !  "  he  cried  cheerfully,  though  his 
heart  was  beating  nervously  at  the  thought  of  what  he 
was  about  to  do  —  and  across  his  features  there  was  a 
sickly  pallor. 

Peg  turned  and  looked  at  him,  at  the  same  moment 
hiding  the  book  behind  her  back. 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  all  tucked  away  ? "  he 
ventured  as  the  opening  question  that  was  to  lead  to 
the  all-important  one. 

Peg  held  it  up  for  him  to  see :  "  The  only  thing  I'm 
takin'  away  that  I  didn't  bring  with  me." 

"  A  book,  eh?  " 

"  That's  what  it  is  —  a  book ; "  and  she  began  to  go 
upstairs. 

"  Taking  it  away?  "  he  called  up  to  her. 

"  That's  what  I'm  doin',"  and  she  still  went  on  up  two 
more  steps. 

Alaric  made  a  supreme  effort  and  followed  her. 

"You're  not  really  goin'  away  —  cousin?"  he 
gasped. 

"  I  am,"  replied  Peg.  "  An'  ye  can  forget  the  rela- 
tionship the  minnit  the  cab  drives  me  away  from  yer 
door!" 


304  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Oh,  I  say,  you  know,"  faltered  Alaric.  "  Don't  be 
cruel!" 

"  Cruel,  is  it?  "  queried  Peg  in  amazement.  "  Sure, 
what's  there  cruel  in  that,  will  ye  tell  me  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

For  once  all  Alaric's  confidence  left  him.  His  tongue 
was  dry  and  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  Instead  of 
conferring  a  distinction  on  the  poor  little  creature  he 
felt  almost  as  if  he  were  about  to  ask  her  a  favour. 

He  tried  to  throw  a  world  of  tenderness  into  his  voice 
as  he  spoke  insinuatingly: 

"  I  thought  we  were  goin'  to  be  such  good  little 
friends,"  and  he  looked  almost  languishingly  at  her. 

For  the  first  time  Peg  began  to  feel  some  interest. 
Her  eyes  winked  as  she  said: 

"Did  ye?     Look  at  that,  now.     7  didn't." 

"  I  say,  you  know,"  and  he  went  up  on  the  same  step 
with  her :  "  I  say  —  really  ye  mustn't  let  what  the 
mater  said  last  night  upset  ye  !  Really,  ye  mustn't ! " 

"Mustn't  I,  now?  Well,  let  me  tell  ye  it  did  upset 
me  —  an'  Pm  still  upset  —  an'  I'm  goin'  to  kape  on  beins 
upset  until  I  get  into  the  cab  that  dhrives  me  from  yer 
door." 

"  Oh,  come,  now  —  what  nonsense  !  Of  course  the  ma- 
ter was  a  teeny  bit  disappointed  —  that's  all.  Just  a 
teeny  bit.  But  now  it's  all  over." 

"  Well,  /  was  a  whole  lot  disappointed  —  an'  it's  all 
over  with  me,  too."  She  started  again  to  get  away  from 
him,  but  he  stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"  Don't  go  for  a  minute.  Why  not  forget  the  whole 
thing  and  let's  all  settle  down  into  nice,  cosy,  jolly  little 
pals,  eh?" 

He  was  really  beginning  to  warm  to  his  work  the  more 
she  made  difficulties.  It  was  for  Alaric  to  overcome  them. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  305 

The  family  roof  was  at  stake.  He  had  gone  chivalrously 
to  the  rescue.  He  was  feeling  a  gleam  of  real  enthusi- 
asm. Peg's  reply  threw  a  damper  again  on  his  progress. 

"  Forget  it,  is  it?  No  —  I'll  not  forget  it.  My  mem- 
ory is  not  so  convaynient.  You're  not  goin'  to  be  dis- 
graced again  through  me !  "  She  passed  him  and  went 
on  to  the  landing.  He  followed  her  eagerly. 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  cried,  stopping  her  just  by  an 
oriel  window.  She  paused  in  the  centre  of  the  glow  that 
radiated  from  its  panes. 

"What  is  it,  now?"  she  asked  impatiently.  She 
wanted  to  go  back  to  her  room  and  make  her  final  prep- 
arations. 

Alaric  looked  at  her  with  what  he  meant  to  be  adora- 
tion in  his  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know,  I've  grown  really  awfully  fond  of 
you  ?  "  His  voice  quivered  and  broke.  He  had  reached 
one  of  the  crises  of  his  life. 

Peg  looked  at  him  and  a  smile  broadened  across  her 
face. 

"  No,  I  didn't  know  it.     When  did  ye  find  it  out?  " 

"  Just  now  —  down  in  that  room  —  when  the  thought 
flashed  through  me  that  perhaps  you  really  meant  to 
leave  us.  It  went  all  through  me.  'Pon  my  honour,  it 
did.  The  idea  positively  hurt  me.  Really  hurt  me." 

"Did  it,  now?"  laughed  Peg.  "Sure,  an'  I'm  glad 
of  it." 

"  Glad !     GLAD  ?  "  he  asked  in  astonishment. 

"  I  am.  I  didn't  think  anythin'  could  hurt  ye  unless 
it  disturbed  yer  comfort.  An*  I  don't  see  how  my  goin' 
will  do  that." 

"  Oh,  but  it  will,"  persisted  Alaric.     "  Really,  it  will." 

"  Sure,  now  ? "  Peg  was  growing  really  curious. 
What  was  this  odd  little  fellow  trying  to  tell  her?  He 


306  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

looked  so  tremendously  in  earnest  about  something. 
What  in  the  world  was  it? 

Alaric  answered  her  without  daring  to  look  at  her. 

He  fixed  his  eye  on  his  pointed  shoe  and  said  quaver- 
ingly: 

"  You  know,  meetin'  a  girl  round  the  house  for  a  whole 
month,  as  I've  met  you,  has  an  awful  effect  on  a  fellow. 
Awful!  Really!"  " 

"  Awful?  "  cried  Peg. 

"  Yes,  indeed  it  has.  It  grows  part  of  one's  life,  as 
it  were.  Not  to  see  you  running  up  and  down  those 
stairs:  sittin'  about  all  over  the  place:  studyin*  all  your 
jolly  books  and  everything  —  you  know  the  thought 
bruises  me  —  really  it  bruises." 

Peg  laughed  heartily.  Her  good  humour  was  coming 
back  to  her. 

"  Sure,  ye'll  get  over  it,  Alaric,"  she  said  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  That's  just  it,"  he  protested  anxiously.  "  I'm 
afraid  I  won't  get  over  it.  Do  you  know,  I'm  quite 
ache-y  now.  Indeed  I  am." 

"  Ache-y  ?  "  repeated  Peg,  growing  more  and  more 
amused. 

Alaric  touched  his  heart  tenderly: 

w  Yes,  really.     All  round  here!  " 

"  Perhaps  it's  because  I  disturbed  yer  night's  rest, 
Alaric?  " 

"  You've  disturbed  all  my  rest.  If  you  go  I'll  never 
have  awy  rest."  Once  again  he  spurred  on  his  flagging 
spirits  and  threw  all  his  ardour  into  the  appeal.  "  I've 
really  begun  to  care  for  you  very  much.  Oh,  very,  very 
much.  It  all  came  to  me  in  a  flash  —  down  in  the  room.*' 

And  —  for  the  moment  —  he  really  meant  it.  He  be-? 
gan  to  see  qualities  in  his  little  cousin  which  he  had  nevep 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  307 

noticed  before.  And  the  fact  that  she  was  not  appar- 
ently a  willing  victim,  added  zest  to  the  attack. 

Peg  looked  at  him  with  unfeigned  interest: 

"  Sure,  that  does  ye  a  great  dale  of  credit.  I've  been 
thinkin'  all  the  time  I've  known  ye  that  ye  only  cared 
for  yerself  —  like  all  Englishmen." 

"  Oh,  no,"  protested  Alaric.  "  Oh,  dear,  no.  We  care 
a  great  deal  at  times  —  oh,  a  great  deal  —  and  never  say 
a  word  about  it  —  not  a  single  word.  You  know  we  hate 
to  wear  our  hearts  on  our  sleeves." 

"  I  don't  blame  ye.  Ye'd  wear  them  out  too  soon, 
maybe." 

Alaric  felt  that  the  moment  had  now  really  come. 

"  Cousin,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  dropped  to  the  ca- 
ressing note  of  a  wooer  :  "  Cousin  !  Do  you  know  I  am 
going  to  do  something  now  I've  never  done  before?  " 

He  paused  to  let  the  full  force  of  what  was  to  come 
have  its  real  value. 

"  What  is  it,  Alaric  ?  "  Peg  asked,  all  unconscious  of 
the  drama  that  was  taking  place  in  her  cousin's  heart! 
"  Sure,  what  is  it?  Ye're  not  goin'  to  do  somethin' 
useful,  are  ye?  " 

He  braced  himself  and  went  on  :  "  I  am  going  to  ask 
a  very  charming  young  lady  to  marry  me.  Eh?  " 


"  I  am." 

"  What  do  ye  think  o»  that,  now  !  " 

"  And  —  who  —  do  —  you  —  think  —  it  —  is?  " 

He  waited,  wondering  if  ske  would  guess  correctly. 
It  would  be  so  helpful  if  only  she  could. 

But  she  was  so  unexpected. 

"  I  couldn't  guess  it  in  a  hundred  years,  Alaric.  Ralely, 
I  couldn't." 

"  Oh,  try!     Do.     Try!  "  he  urged. 


308  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I  couldn't  think  who'd  marry  you  —  indade  I 
couldn't.  Mebbe  the  poor  girl's  blind.  Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  guess?     No?     Really?  " 

"  No,  I'm  tellin'  ye.     Who  is  it?  " 

"  You!  " 

The  moment  had  come.  The  die  was  cast.  His  life 
was  in  the  hands  of  Fate  • —  and  of  Peg.  He  waited 
breathlessly  for  the  effect. 

Peg  looked  at  him  in  blank  astonishment. 

All  expression  had  left  her  face. 

Then  she  leaned  back  against  the  balustrade  and 
laughed  long  and  unrestrainedly.  She  laughed  until  the 
tears  came  coursing  down  her  cheeks. 

Alaric  was  at  first  nonplussed.  Then  he  grasped  the 
situation  in  its  full  significance.  It  was  just  a  touch 
of  hysteria.  He  joined  her  and  laughed  heartily  as 
well. 

"  Aha !  "  he  cried,  between  laughs :  "  That's  a  splen- 
did sign.  Splendid !  I've  always  been  told  that  girls 
cry  when  they're  proposed  to." 

"  Sure,  that's  what  I'm  doin',"  gasped  Peg.  "  I'm 
cryin' —  laughin'." 

Alaric  suddenly  checked  his  mirth  and  said  seriously: 

"  'Course  ye  must  know,  cousin,  that  I've  nothin'  to 
offer  you  except  a  life-long  devotion:  a  decent  old  name 
—  and  —  my  career  —  when  once  I  get  it  goin'.  I  only 
need  an  incentive  to  make  no  end  of  a  splash  in  the 
world.  You  would  be  my  incentive." 

Peg  could  hardly  believe  her  ears.  She  looked  at 
Alaric  while  her  eyes  danced  mischievously. 

"  Go  on ! "  she  said.  "  Go  on.  Sure,  ye're  doin' 
fine!" 

"  Then  it's  all  right?"  he  asked  fervently. 

"  Faith !     I  think  it's  wondherf  ul." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  309 

"  Good.  Excellent.  But  —  there  are  one  or  two  lit- 
tle things  to  be  settled  first." 

Even  as  the  victorious  general,  with  the  capitulated 
citadel,  it  was  time  to  dictate  terms.  Delays  in  such 
matters,  Alaric  had  often  been  told,  were  unwise.  A 
clear  understanding  at  the  beginning  saved  endless  com- 
plications afterwards. 

"  Just  a  few  little  things,"  he  went  on,  "  such  as  a 
little  obedience  —  that's  most  essential.  A  modicum  of 
care  about  ordinary  things, —  for  instance,  about  dress, 
speech,  hair,  et  cetera  —  and  no  *  Michael.' ' 

"Oh!"  cried  Peg  dejectedly,  while  her  eyes  beamed 
playfully : 

"  Sure,  couldn't  I  have  «  Michael *?  " 

"  ATo,"  he  said  firmly.  It  was  well  she  should  under- 
stand that  once  and  for  all.  He  had  never  in  a  long  ex- 
perience, seen  a  dog  he  disliked  more. 

"  Oh !  "  ej  aculated  Peg,  plaintively. 

Prepared  to,  at  any  rate,  compromise,  rather  than  have 
an  open  rupture,  he  hastened  to  modify  his  attitude: 

"  At  least  not  in  the  house." 

"  In  the  stables?  "  queried  Peg. 

*'  We'd  give  him  a  jolly  little  kennel  somewhere,  if 
you  really  wanted  him,  and  you  could  see  him  • —  say 
twice  a  day." 

He  felt  a  thrill  of  generosity  as  he  thus  unbent  from 
his  former  rigid  attitude. 

"  Then  it  wouldn't  be  '  love  me  love  my  dog  '  ?  "  quizzed 
Peg. 

"  Well,  really,  you  know,  one  cannot  regulate  one's 
life  by  proverbs,  cousin.  Can  one?"  he  reasoned. 

"  But  *  Michael '  is  all  I  have  in  the  wurrld,  except  me 
father.  Now,  what  could  ye  give  me  instead  of  him  ?  " 

Here  was  where  a  little  humour  would  save  the  whole 


310  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

situation.  Things  were  becoming  strained  —  and  over  a 
dog. 

Alaric  would  use  his  subtler  humour  —  keen  as  bright 
steel  —  and  turn  the  edge  of  the  discussion. 

"  What  can  I  give  you  instead  of  '  Michael '?  " 

He  paused,  laughed  cheerfully  and  bent  tenderly  over 
her  and  whispered: 

"  Myself,  dear  cousin !  MYSELF  !  "  and  he  leaned  back 
and  watched  the  effect.  A  quick  joke  at  the  right  mo- 
ment had  so  often  saved  the  day.  It  would  again,  he  was 
sure.  After  a  moment  he  whispered  softly: 

"  What  do  you  say  —  dear  cousin?  " 

Peg  looked  up  at  him,  innocently,  and  answered: 

"  Sure,  I  think  I'd  rather  have  '  Michael '-  —  if  ve  don't 
mind." 

He  started  forward :  "Oh,  come,  I  say !  You  don't 
mean  that?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  answered  decidedly. 

"But  think  —  just  for  one  moment  —  of  the  advan- 
tages? " 

"  For  you,  or  for  me?  "  asked  Peg. 

"  For  you  —  of  course,"  replied  the  disappointed 
Alaric. 

"  I'm  thryin'  to  —  but  I  can  only  think  of  *  Michael.1 
Sure,  I  get  more  affection  out  of  his  bark  of  greetin'  than 
I've  ever  got  from  a  human  bein'  in  England.  But  then 
he's  Irish.  No,  thank  ye,  all  the  same.  If  it  makes  no 
difference  to  ye,  I'd  rather  have  *  Michael.'  ' 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  refuse  me  ?  "  he 
asked  blankly. 

"  If  ye  don't  mind,"  replied  Peg  meekly. 

"  You  actually  decline  my  hand  and  —  er  —  heart?  ° 

*  That's  what  I  do." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  311 

"  Really  ?  "  He  was  still  unable  to  believe  it.  He 
wanted  to  hear  her  refusal  distinctly. 

"  Ralely,"  replied  Peg,  gravely. 

"  Is  that  final?  " 

"  It's  the  most  final  thing  there  is  in  the  wurrld,"  re- 
plied Peg,  on  the  brink  of  an  outburst  of  laughter. 

Alaric  looked  so  anxious  and  crestfallen  now  —  in 
sharp  contrast  to  his  attitude  of  triumph  a  few  moments 
before. 

To  her  amazement  the  gloom  lifted  from  her  cousin's 
countenance.  He  took  a  deep  breath,  looked  at  her  in 
genuine  relief,  and  cried  out  heartily: 

"  I  say!     You're  a  brick!" 

"Am  I?"  asked  Peg. 

"  It's  really  awfully  good  of  you.  Some  girls  in  your 
position  would  have  jumped  at  me.  Positively  jumped!  " 

*'  Would  they  —  poor  things !  " 

"  But  you  —  why,  you're  a  genuine,  little,  hall-marked 
*  A  number  one  brick ' !  I'm  extremely  obliged  to 
you." 

He  took  her  little  hand  and  shook  it  warmly. 

"  You're  a  plucky  little  girl,  that's  what  you  are  • — ' 
a  'plucky  —  little  —  girl.  I'll  never  forget  it  —  never. 
If  there  is  anythin'  I  can  do  —  at  any  time  —  anywhere 
—  call  on  me.  I'll  be  there  —  right  on  the  spot." 

He  heard  his  mother's  voice,  speaking  to  Jarvis,  in  the 
room  below.  At  the  same  moment  he  saw  Ethel  walking 
toward  them  along  the  corridor. 

He  said  hurriedly  and  fervently  to  Peg: 

"  Bless  you,  cousin.  You've  taken  an  awful  load  off 
my  mind.  I  was  really  worried.  I  had  to  ask  you. 
Promised  to.  See  you  before  you  go!  Hello!  Ethel! 
All  right?  Good!"  Without  waiting  for  an  answer, 


3ia  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

the  impulsive  young  gentleman  went  on  up  to  his  own 
room  to  rej  oice  over  his  escape. 

Peg  walked  over  and  took  Ethel  by  both  hands  and 
looked  into  the  tired,  anxious  eyes. 

"  Come  into  my  room,"  she  whispered. 

Without  a  word,  Ethel  followed  her  into  the  Mauve- 
Room. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MONTGOMERY  HAWKES 

ON  the  30th  day  of  June,  Mr.  Montgomery  Hawkes 
glanced  at  his  appointments  for  the  following  day  and 
found  the  entry :  "  Mrs.  Chichester,  Scarboro  —  in  re 
Margaret  O'Connell." 

He  accordingly  sent  a  telegram  to  Mrs.  Chichester, 
acquainting  her  with  the  pleasant  news  that  she  might 
expect  that  distinguished  lawyer  on  July  1,  to  render  an 
account  of  her  stewardship  of  the  Irish  agitator's  child. 

As  he  entered  a  first-class  carriage  on  the  Great  North- 
ern Railway  at  King's  Cross  station  next  day,  bound  for 
Scarboro,  he  found  himself  wondering  how  the  experiment, 
dictated  by  Kingsnorth  on  his  death-bed,  had  progressed. 
It  was  a  most  interesting  case.  He  had  handled  several, 
during  his  career  as  a  solicitor,  in  which  bequests  were 
made  to  the  younger  branches  of  a  family  that  had  been 
torn  by  dissension  during  the  testator's  lifetime,  and 
were  now  remembered  for  the  purpose  of  making  tardy 
amends. 

But  in  those  cases  the  families  were  all  practically 
of  the  same  caste.  It  would  be  merely  benefiting  them 
by  money  or  land.  Their  education  had  already  been 
taken  care  of.  Once  the  bequest  was  arranged  all  re- 
sponsibility ended. 

The  O'Connell-Kingsnorth  arrangement  was  an  en- 
tirely different  condition  of  things  altogether.  There 
were  so  many  provisions  each  contingent  on  something 
in  the  character  of  the  beneficiary.  He  did  not  regard 
the  case  with  the  same  equanimity  he  had  handled  the 

313 


314*  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

others.  It  opened  up  so  many  possibilities  of  difficulty, 
and  the  object  of  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  bequest  was  such  an 
amazing  young  lady  to  endeavour  to  do  anything  with. 
He  had  no  preconceived  methods  to  employ  in  the  matter. 
It  was  an  experiment  where  his  experience  was  of  no  use. 
He  had  only  to  wait  developments,  and,  should  any  real 
crisis  arise,  consult  with  the  Chief  Executor. 

By  the  time  he  reached  Scarboro  he  had  arranged 
everything  in  his  mind.  It  was  to  be  a  short  and  ex- 
ceedingly satisfactory  interview  and  he  would  be  able  to 
catch  the  afternoon  express  back  to  London. 

He  pictured  Miss  O'Connell  as  being  marvellously  im- 
proved by  her  gentle  surroundings  and  eager  to  continue 
in  them.  He  was  sure  he  would  have  a  most  satisfactory 
report  to  make  to  the  Chief  Executor. 

As  he  walked  up  the  beach-walk  he  was  humming  gaily 
an  air  from  "  Girofle-Girofla."  He  was  entirely  free 
from  care  and  annoyance.  He  was  thinking  what  a  for- 
tunate young  lady  Miss  O'Connell  was  to  live  amid  such 
delightful  surroundings.  It  would  be  many  a  long  day 
before  she  would  ever  think  of  leaving  her  aunt. 

All  of  which  points  to  the  obvious  fact  that  even  gen- 
tlemen with  perfectly-balanced  legal  brains,  occasionally 
mis-read  the  result  of  force  of  character  over  circum- 
stances. 

He  was  shown  into  the  music-room  and  was  admiring 
a  genuine  Greuze  when  Mrs.  Chichester  came  in. 

She  greeted  him  tragically  and  motioned  him  to  a  seat 
beside  her. 

"  Well?  "  he  smiled  cheerfully.  "  And  how  is  our  little 
protegee  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,"  replied  Mrs.   Chichester,  sombrely. 

"  Thank  you." 

He  sat  beside  her,  waited  a  moment,  then,  with  some 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  315 

sense  of  misgiving,  asked :  "  Everything  going  well,  I 
hope?" 

"  Far  from  it."  'And  Mrs.  Chichester  shook  her  head 
sadly. 

"  Indeed?  "     His  misgivings  deepened. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  one  thing,  Mr.  Hawkes," 
and  tears  welled  up  into  the  old  lady's  eyes :  "  I  have 
done  my  best." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,  Mrs.  Chichester,"  assured  the 
lawyer,  growing  more  and  more  apprehensive. 

"  But  she  wants  to  leave  us  to-day.  She  has  ordered 
a  cab.  She  is  packing  now." 

"Dear,  dear!"  ejaculated  the  bewildered  solicitor. 
'*  Where  is  she  going?  " 

"  Back  to  her  father." 

"  How  perfectly  ridiculous.     Why?  " 

"  I  had  occasion  to  speak  to  her  severely  —  last  night. 
She  grew  very  angry  and  indignant  —  and  —  now  she 
has  ordered  a  cab." 

"  Oh!  "  and  Hawkes  laughed  easily.  "  A  little  child- 
ish temper.  Leave  her  to  me.  I  have  a  method  with 
the  young.  Now  —  tell  me  —  what  is  her  character  ? 
How  has  she  behaved  ?  " 

"  At  times  admirably.  At  others  — "  Mrs.  Chiches- 
ter raised  her  hands  and  her  eyes  in  shocked  disapproval. 

"  Not  quite  —  ?  "  suggested  Mr.  Hawkes. 

"  Not  at  all!  "  concluded  Mrs.  Chichester. 

"  How  are  her  studies  ?  " 

"  Backward." 

"  Well,  we  must  not  expect  too  much,"  said  the  lawyer 
reassuringly.  "  Remember  everything  is  foreign  to 
her." 

"  Then   you   are  not  disappointed,  Mr.   Hawkes  ?  " 

"  Not    in    the    least.     We    can't    expect    to    form    a 


316  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

character   in   a  month.     Does   she   see  many   people  ? " 

"  Very  few.  We  try  to  keep  her  entirely  amongst 
ourselves." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that.  Let  her  mix  with  people.  The 
more  the  better.  The  value  of  contrast.  Take  her  vis- 
iting with  you.  Let  her  talk  to  others  —  listen  to  them 
—  exchange  opinions  with  them.  Nothing  is  better  for 
sharp-minded,  intelligent  and  ignorant  people  than  to 
meet  others  cleverer  than  themselves.  The  moment  they 
recognise  their  own  inferiority,  they  feel  the  desire  for 
improvement." 

Mrs.  Chichester  listened  indignantly  to  this,  somewhat 
platitudinous,  sermon  on  how  to  develop  character.  And 
indignation  was  in  her  tone  when  she  replied: 

"  Surely,  she  has  sufficient  example  here,  sir?  " 

Hawkes  was  on  one  of  his  dearest  hobbies  — "  Char- 
acters and  Dispositions."  He  had  once  read  a  lecture  on 
the  subject.  He  smiled  almost  pityingly  at  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester, as  he  shook  his  head  and  answered  her. 

"No,  Mrs.  Chichester,  pardon  me  —  but  no!  She 
has  not  sufficient  example  here.  Much  as  I  appreciate  a 
Tiome  atmosphere,  it  is  only  when  the  young  get  axzay 
from  it  that  they  really  develop.  It  is  the  contact  with 
the  world,  and  its  huge  and  marvellous  interests,  that 
strengthens  character  and  solidifies  disposition.  It  is 
only  — "  he  stopped. 

Mrs.  Chichester  was  evidently  either  not  listening,  or 
was  entirely  unimpressed.  She  was  tapping  her  left  hand 
with  a  lorgnette  she  held  in  her  right,  and  was  waiting 
for  an  opportunity  to  speak.  Consequently,  Mr.  Hawkes 
stopped  politely. 

"  If  you  can  persuade  her  to  remain  with  us,  I  will  do 
anything  you  wish  in  regard  to  her  character  and  its  de- 
velopment." 


"Holy  Mother1"  she  cried,  "the  whole  house'll 
be  awake" 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  317 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,"  he  replied  easily,  "  she  will  stay. 
May  I  see  her?  " 

Mrs.  Chichester  rose,  crossed  over  to  the  bell  and  rang 
it.  She  wanted  to  prepare  the  solicitor  for  the  possi- 
bility of  a  match  between  her  son  and  her  niece.  She 
would  do  it  now  and  do  it  tactfully. 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  must  know,  Mr.  Hawkes. 
My  son  is  in  love  with  her,"  she  said,  as  though  in  a  burst 
of  confidence. 

Hawkes  rose,  visibly  perturbed. 

"What?     Your  son?" 

"  Yes,"  she  sighed.  "  Of  course  she  is  hardly  a  suit- 
able match  for  Alaric  —  as  yet.  But  by  the  time  she  is 
of  age  — " 

"Of  age?" 

"  By  that  time,  much  may  be  done." 

Jarvis  came  in  noiselessly  and  was  despatched  by  Mrs. 
Chichester  to  bring  her  niece  to  her. 

Hawkes  was  moving  restlessly  about  the  room.  He 
stopped  in  front  of  Mrs.  Chichester  as  Jarvis  disap- 
peared. 

"  I  am  afraid,  madam,  that  such  a  marriage  would  be 
out  of  the  question." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  demanded  the  old  lady. 

"  As  one  of  the  executors  of  the  late  Mr.  Kingsnorth's 
will,  in  my  opinion,  it  would  be  defeating  the  object  of 
the  dead  man's  legacy." 

Mrs.  Chichester  retorted,  heatedly: 

"  He  desires  her  to  be  trained.  What  training  is  bet- 
ter than  marriage?  " 

"  Almost  any,"  replied  Mr.  Hawkes.  "  Marriage 
should  be  the  union  of  two  formed  characters.  Mar- 
riage between  the  young  is  one  of  my  pet  objections.  It 
is  a  condition  of  life  essentially  for  those  who  have 


318  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

reached  maturity  in  nature  and  in  character.  I  am  pre- 
paring a  paper  on  it  for  the  Croydon  Ethical  Society 
and—" 

Whatever  else  Mr.  Hawkes  might  have  said  in  continua- 
tion of  another  of  his  pet  subjects  was  cut  abruptly 
short  by  the  appearance  of  Peg.  She  was  still  dressed 
in  one  of  Mrs.  Chichester's  gifts.  She  had  not  had  an 
opportunity  to  change  into  her  little  travelling  suit. 

Hawkes  looked  at  her  in  delighted  surprise.  She  had 
completely  changed.  What  a  metamorphosis  from  the 
forlorn  little  creature  of  a  month  ago !  He  took  her  by 
the  hand  and  pressed  it  warmly,  at  the  same  time  saying 
heartily : 

"  Well,  well !     What  an  improvement." 

Peg  gazed  at  him  with  real  pleasure.  She  was  genu- 
inely glad  to  see  him.  She  returned  the  pressure  of  his 
hand  and  welcomed  him: 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,  Mr.  Hawkes." 

"  Why,  you're  a  young  lady ! "  cried  the  astonished 
solicitor. 

"  Am  I  ?  Ask  me  aunt  about  that ! "  replied  Peg, 
somewhat  bitterly. 

"  Mr.  Hawkes  wishes  to  talk  to  you,  dear,"  broke  in 
Mrs.  Chichester,  and  there  was  a  melancholy  pathos  in 
her  voice  and  in  her  eyes. 

If  neither  Alaric  nor  Mr.  Hawkes  could  deter  her, 
•what  would  become  of  them? 

"  And  I  want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Hawkes,  too,"  replied 
Peg.  "  But  ye  must  hurry,"  she  went  on.  "  I've  only 
a  few  minutes." 

Mrs.  Chichester  went  pathetically  to  the  door,  and, 
telling  Mr.  Hawkes  she  would  see  him  again  when  he  had 
interviewed  her  niece,  she  left  them. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  319 

"  Now,  my  dear  Miss  Margaret  O'Connell  • — "  began 
the  lawyer. 

"  Will  ye  let  me  have  twenty  pounds?  "  suddenly  asked 
Peg. 

"  Certainly.     Now?  "  and  he  took  out  his  pocket-book. 

"  This  minnit,"  replied  Peg  positively. 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Hawkes,  as  he  began  to 
count  the  bank-notes. 

"  And  I  want  ye  to  get  a  passage  on  the  first  ship  to 
America.  This  afternoon  if  there's  one,"  cried  Peg,  ear- 
nestly. 

"  Oh,  come,  come  — "  remonstrated  the  lawyer. 

"  The  twenty  pounds  I  want  to  buy  something  for  me 
father  —  just  to  remember  England  by.  If  ye  think 
me  uncle  wouldn't  like  me  to  have  it  because  I'm  lavin', 
why  then  me  father5!!  pay  ye  back.  It  may  take  him  a 
long  time,  but  he'll  pay  it." 

"  Now  listen  — "  interrupted  Mr.  Hawkes. 

"  Mebbe  it'll  only  be  a  few  dollars  a  week,  but  father 
always  pays  his  debts  —  in  time.  That's  all  he  ever 
needs  —  time." 

"  What's  all  this  nonsense  about  going  away  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  nonsense.  I'm  goin'  to  me  father,"  answered 
Peg  resolutely. 

"  Just  when  everything  is  opening  out  for  you  ? " 
asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Everything  has  closed  up  on  me,"  said  Peg.  "  I'm 
goin'  back." 

"  Why,  you've  improved  out  of  all  knowledge." 

"  Don't  think  that.  Me  clothes  have  changed  —  that's 
all.  When  I  put  me  thravellin'  suit  back  on  agen,  ye 
won't  notice  any  improvement." 

"  But  think  what  you're  giving  up." 


320  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I'll  have  me  father.  I'm  only  sorry  I  gave  him  up  — * 
for  a  month." 

"  The  upbringing  of  a  young  lady  !  " 

"  I  don't  want  it.     I  want  me  father." 

"  The  advantages  of  gentle  surroundings." 

"  New  York  is  good  enough  for  me  —  with  me  father." 

"  Education ! " 

"  I  can  get  that  in  America  —  with  me  father." 

"  Position ! " 

*'  I  don't  want  it.     I  want  me  father." 

"Why  this  rebellion?  This  sudden  craving  for  your 
father?" 

"  It  isn't  sudden,"  she  turned  on  him  fiercely.  "  I've 
wanted  him  all  the  time  I've  been  here.  I  only  promised 
to  stay  a  month  anyway.  Well,  I've  stayed  a  month. 
Now,  I've  disgraced  them  all  here  an'  I'm  goin'  back 
home." 

"  Disgraced  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  disgraced  them.  Give  me  that  twenty  pounds, 
please,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand  for  the  notes. 

"  How  have  you  disgraced  them?"  demanded  the 
astonished  lawyer. 

"  Ask  me  aunt.  She  knows.  Give  me  the  money, 
please." 

Hawkes  hunted  through  his  mind  for  the  cause  of  this 
upheaval  in  the  Chichester  home.  He  remembered  Mrs. 
Chichester's  statement  about  Alaric's  affection  for  his 
young  cousin.  Could  the  trouble  have  arisen  from  that? 
It  gave  him  a  clue  to  work  on.  He  grasped  it. 

"  Answer  me  one  question  truthfully,  Miss  O'Connell." 

"  What  is  it?     Hurry.     I've  a  lot  to  do  before  I  go." 

"  Is  there  an  affair  of  the  heart ?  " 

"  D'ye  mean  love?  " 

"  Yes." 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  321 

"  Why  d'ye  ask  me  that?  " 

"  Answer  me,"  insisted  Mr.  Hawkes. 

Peg  looked  down  on  the  ground  mournfully  and  re- 
plied : 

"  Me  heart  is  in  New  York  —  with  me  father." 

"  Has  anyone  made  love  to  you  since  you  have  been 
here?" 

Peg  looked  up  at  him  sadly  and  shook  her  head. 
A  moment  later,  a  mischievous  look  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  she  said,  with  a  roguish  laugh: 

"  Sure  one  man  wanted  to  kiss  me  an'  I  boxed  his  ears. 
And  another  —  almost  man  —  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"  Oh !  "  e j  aculated  the  lawyer. 

"  Me  cousin  Alaric." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  "  questioned  Hawkes. 

"  I  towld  him  I'd  rather  have  '  Michael.' ' 

He  looked  at  her  in  open  bewilderment  and  repeated : 

"  Michael?  " 

"  Me  dog,"  explained  Peg,  and  her  eyes  danced  with 
merriment. 

Hawkes  laughed  heartily  and  relievedly. 

"  Then  you  refused  him?  " 

"  Of  course  I  refused  him.  Me  marry  him!  What 
for,  I'd  like  to  know?  " 

"  Is  he  too  young?  " 

"  He's  too  selfish,  an'  too  silly  too,  an'  too  everything 
I  don't  like  in  a  man ! "  replied  Peg. 

"  And  what  do  you  like  in  a  man  ?  " 

"  Precious  little  from  what  I've  seen  of  them  in  Eng- 
land." 

As  Hawkes  looked  at  her,  radiant  in  her  spring-like 
beauty,  her  clear,  healthy  complexion,  her  dazzling  teeth, 
her  red-gold  hair,  he  felt  a  sudden  thrill  go  through  him. 
His  life  had  been  so  full,  so  concentrated  on  the  devel- 


PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

opment  of  his  career,  that  he  had  never  permitted  the 
feminine  note  to  obtrude  itself  on  his  life.  His  effort 
had  been  rewarded  by  an  unusually  large  circle  of  influ- 
ential clients  who  yielded  him  an  exceedingly  handsome 
revenue.  He  had  heard  whispers  of  a  magistracy.  His 
public  future  was  assured. 

But  his  private  life  was  arid.  The  handsome  villa 
in  Pelham  Crescent  had  no  one  to  grace  the  head  of  the 
table,  save  on  the  occasional  visits  of  his  aged  mother,  or 
the  still  rarer  ones  of  a  married  sister. 

And  here  was  he  in  the  full  prime  of  life. 

It  is  remarkable  how,  at  times,  in  one's  passage  through 
life,  the  throb  in  a  voice,  the  breath  of  a  perfume,  the 
chord  of  an  old  song,  will  arouse  some  hidden  note  that 
had  so  far  lain  dormant  in  one's  nature,  and  which,  when 
awakened  into  life,  has  influences  that  reach  through  gen- 
erations. 

It  was  even  so  with  Hawkes,  as  he  looked  at  the  little 
Irish  girl,  born  of  an  aristocratic  English  mother,  looking 
up  at  him,  hand  outstretched,  expectant,  in  all  her  girlish 
pudicity. 

Yielding  to  some  uncontrollable  impulse,  he  took  the 
little  hand  in  both  of  his  own.  He  smiled  nervously, 
and  there  was  a  suspicious  tremor  in  his  voice: 

"  You  would  like  a  man  of  position  in  life  to  give  you 
what  you  most  need.  Of  years  to  bring  you  dignity  and 
strength  to  protect  you." 

"  I've  got  him*"  stated  Peg  unexpectedly,  withdrawing 
her  hand  and  eyeing  the  bank-notes  that  seemed  as  far 
from  her  as  when  she  first  asked  for  them. 

"  You've  got  him?  "  ejaculated  the  man-of-law,  aghast. 

"  I  have.  Me  father.  Let  me  count  that  money.  The 
cab  will  be  here  an'  I  won't  be  ready  - 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  323 

Hawkes  was  not  to  be  denied  now.  He  went  on  in  his 
softest  and  most  persuasive  accents: 

"  I  know  one  who  would  give  you  all  these  —  a  man 
who  has  reached  the  years  of  discretion !  one  in  whom  the 
follies  of  youth  have  merged  into  the  knowledge  and 
reserve  of  early  middle-age.  A  man  of  position  and  of 
means.  A  man  who  can  protect  you,  care  for  you,  ad- 
mire you  —  and  be  proud  to  marry  you." 

He  felt  a  real  glow  of  eloquent  pleasure,  as  he  paused 
for  her  reply  to  so  dignified  and  ardent  an  appeal. 

If  Peg  had  been  listening,  she  certainly  could  not  have 
understood  the  meaning  of  his  fervid  words,  since  she 
answered  him  by  asking  a  question: 

"  Are  ye  goin'  to  let  me  have  the  money  ?  " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  money  at  a  moment  like  this ! " 
cried  the  mortified  lawyer. 

"  But  ye  said  ye  would  let  me  have  it !  "  persisted  Peg. 

"  Don't  37ou  wish  to  know  who  the  man  is,  whom  I  have 
just  described,  my  dear  Miss  O'Connell?" 

"No,  I  don't.  Why  should  I?  With  me  father 
waitin'  in  New  York  for  me  —  an'  I'm  waitin'  for 
that  — "  and  again  she  pointed  to  his  pocket-book. 

"  Miss  O'Connell  —  may  I  say  —  Margaret,  I  was 
your  uncle's  adviser  —  his  warm  personal  friend.  We 
spoke  freely  of  you  for  many  weeks  before  he  died.  It 
was  his  desire  to  do  something  for  you  that  would  change 
your  whole  life  and  make  it  full  and  happy  and  con- 
tented. Were  your  uncle  alive,  I  know  of  nothing  that 
would  give  him  greater  pleasure  than  for  his  old  friend 
to  take  you,  your  young  life  —  into  his  care.  Miss 
O'Connell  —  7  am  the  man !  " 

It  was  the  first  time  this  dignified  gentleman  had  ever 
invited  a  lady  to  share  his  busy  existence,  and  he  felt  the 


324  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

warm  flush  of  youthful  nervousness  rush  to  his  cheeks, 
as  it  might  have  done  had  he  made  just  such  a  proposal, 
as  a  boy.  It  really  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  a  boy  as 
he  stood  before  Peg  waiting  for  her  reply. 

Again  she  did  not  say  exactly  what  he  had  thought  and 
hoped  she  would  have  said. 

"  Stop  it !  "  she  cried.  "  What's  the  matther  with  you 
men  this  morning?  Ye'd  think  I  was  some  great  lady, 
the  way  ye're  all  offerin'  me  yer  hands  an'  yer  names  an* 
yer  influences  an'  yer  dignities.  Stop  it!  Give  me  that 
money  and  let  me  go." 

Hawkes  did  not  despair.     He  paused. 

"  Don't  give  your  answer  too  hastily.  I  know  it  must 
seem  abrupt  —  one  might  almost  say  brutal.  But  7  am 
alone  in  the  world  —  you  are  alone.  Neither  of  us  have 
contracted  a  regard  for  anyone  else.  And  in  addition 
to  that  —  there  would  be  no  occasion  to  marry  until  you 
are  twenty-one.  There !  " 

And  he  gazed  at  her  with  what  he  fondly  hoped  were 
eyes  of  sincere  adoration. 

"  Not  until  I'm  twenty-one !  Look  at  that  now !  " 
replied  Peg  —  it  seemed  to  Mr.  Hawkes,  somewhat 
flippantly. 

"  Well !     What  do  you  say  ?  "  he  asked  vibrantly. 

"What  do  I  say,  to  what?" 

"  Will  you  consent  to  an  engagement  ?  " 

"With  yvu?" 

"Yes,  Miss  O'Connell,  with  me." 

Peg  suddenly  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  laughter. 

Hawkes'  face  clouded  and  hardened. 

The  gloomier  he  looked,  the  more  hearty  were  Peg's 
ebullitions  of  merriment. 

Finally,  when  the  hysterical  outburst  had  somewhat 
abated,  he  asked  coldly: 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  325 

"Am  I  to  consider  that  a  refusal?" 

"  Ye  may.  What  would  /  be  doin',  marryin'  the  likes 
of  you  ?  Answer  me  that  ?  " 

His  passion  began  to  dwindle,  his  ardour  to  lessen. 

"That  is  final?"  he  queried. 

"  Absolutely,  completely  and  entirely  final." 

Not  only  did  all  hope  die  in  Mr.  Hawkes,  but  seem- 
ingly all  regard  as  well. 

Ridicule  is  the  certain  death-blow  to  a  great  and  dis- 
interested affection. 

Peg's  laugh  still  rang  in  his  ears  and  as  he  looked  at 
her  now,  with  a  new  intelligence,  unblinded  by  illusion, 
he  realised  what  a  mistake  it  would  have  been  for  a  man 
of  his  temperament,  leanings  and  achievements  to  have 
linked  his  life  with  hers.  Even  his  first  feeling  of  re- 
sentment passed.  He  felt  now  a  warm  tinge  of  gratitude. 
Her  refusal  —  bitter  though  its  method  had  been  —  was 
a  sane  and  wise  decision.  It  was  better  for  both  of  them. 

He  looked  at  her  gratefully  and  said: 

"  Very  well.  I  think  your  determination  to  return  to 
your  father,  a  very  wise  one.  I  shall  advise  the  Chief 
Executor  to  that  effect.  And  I  shall  also  see  that  a 
cabin  is  reserved  for  you  on  the  first  out-going  steamer, 
and  I'll  personally  take  you  on  board." 

"  Thank  ye  very  much,  sir.  An*  may  I  have  the 
twenty  pounds  ? " 

"  Certainly.  Here  it  is,"  and  he  handed  her  the 
money. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  ye.  An'  I'm  sorry  if  I  hurt  ye 
by  laughin'  just  now.  But  I  thought  ye  were  jokin',  I 
did." 

"  Please  never  refer  to  it  again." 

"  I  won't  —  indade  I  won't.  I  am  sure  it  was  verjg 
nice  of  ye  to  want  to  marry  me  — ' 


826 

"  I  beg  you  — "  he  interrupted,  stopping  her  with  a 
gesture. 

"  Are  you  goin'  back  to  London  to-day?  " 

"  By  the  afternoon  express.** 

"  May  I  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Thank  ye,"  cried  Peg.  "  I  won't  kape  ye  long. 
I've  not  much  to  take  with  me.  Just  what  I  brought 
here  —  that's  all." 

She  hurried  across  the  room  to  the  staircase.  When 
she  was  halfway  up  the  stairs,  Jarvis  entered  and  was 
immediately  followed  by  Jerry. 

Peg  stopped  when  she  saw  him  come  into  the  room. 

As  Jarvis  went  out,  Jerry  turned  and  saw  Peg  looking 
down  at  him.  The  expression  on  her  face  was  at  once 
stern  and  wistful  and  angry  and  yearning. 

He  went  forward  eagerly. 

"  Peg !  "  he  said  gently,  looking  up  at  her. 

"  I'm  goin'  back  to  me  father  in  half  an  hour ! "  and 
she  went  on  up  the  stairs. 

"  In  half  an  hour?  "  he  called  after  her. 

"  In  thirty  minutes ! "  she  replied  and  disappeared. 

As  Jerry  moved  slowly  away  from  the  staircase,  he 
met  Montgomery  Hawkes, 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    CHIEF   EXECTJTOB   APPEARS   UPON    THE   SCENE 

"  WHY,  how  do  you  do,  Sir  Gerald?  "  and  Hawkes  went 
across  quickly  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  Hello,  Hawkes,"  replied  Jerry,  too  preoccupied  to 
return  the  act  of  salutation.  Instead,  he  nodded  in  the 
direction  Peg  had  gone  and  questioned: 

"  What  does  she  mean  —  going  in  a  few  minutes  ? " 

"  She  is  returning  to  America.  Our  term  of  guardian- 
ship is  over." 

"  How's  that?  " 

'*  She  absolutely  refuses  to  stay  here  any  longer.  My 
duties  in  regard  to  her,  outside  of  the  annual  payment 
provided  by  her  late  uncle,  end  to-day,"  replied  the 
lawyer. 

"  I  think  not,  Hawkes." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon?  " 

"  As  the  Chief  Executor  of  the  late  Mr.  Kingsnorth's 
will,  7  must  be  satisfied  that  its  conditions  are  complied 
with  in  the  spirit  as  well  as  to  the  letter,"  said  Jerry; 
authoritatively. 

"  Exactly,"  was  the  solicitor's  reply.     "  And  — ?  " 

"  Mr.  Kingsnorth  expressly  stipulated  that  a  year  was 
to  elapse  before  any  definite  conclusion  was  arrived  at. 
So  far  only  a  month  has  passed." 

"  But  she  insists  on  returning  to  her  father ! "  pro- 
tested Mr.  Hawkes. 

"  Have  you  told  her  the  conditions  of  the  will?  " 

"  Certainly  not.     Mr.  Kingsnorth  distinctly  stated  she 

was  not  to  know  them." 

327 


328  PEG  0'  MY  HEART 

"  Except  under  exceptional  circumstances.  I  consider 
the  circumstances  most  exceptional." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  agree  with  you,  Sir  Gerald." 

"  That  is  a  pity.     But  it  doesn't  alter  my  intention." 

"  And  may  I  ask  what  that  intention  is  ?  " 

"  To  carry  out  the  spirit  of  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  be- 
quest." 

"  And  what  do  you  consider  the  spirit  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  will  best  carry  out  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  last 
wishes  by  making  known  the  conditions  of  his  bequest  to 
Miss  O'Connell  and  then  let  her  decide  whether  she  wishes 
to  abide  by  them  or  not." 

"  As  the  late  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  legal  adviser,  I  must 
strongly  object  to  such  a  course,"  protested  the  indig- 
nant lawyer. 

"  All  the  same,  Mr.  Hawkes,  I  feel  compelled  to  take  it, 
and  I  must  ask  you  to  act  under  my  instructions." 

"  Really,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hawkes ;  "  I  should  much 
prefer  to  resign  from  my  executorship." 

"  Nonsense.  In  the  interests  of  all  parties,  we  must 
act  together  and  endeavour  to  carry  out  the  dead  man's 
wishes." 

The  lawyer  considered  a  moment  and  then  in  a  some- 
what mollified  tone,  said: 

"  Very  well,  Sir  Gerald.  If  you  think  it  is  necessary, 
why  then  by  all  means,  I  shall  concur  in  your  views." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  the  Chief  Executor. 

Mrs.  Chichester  came  into  the  room  and  went  straight 
to  Jerry.  At  the  same  time,  Alaric  burst  in  through  the 
garden  and  greeted  Jerry  and  Hawkes. 

"  I  heard  you  were  here  — "  began  Mrs.  Chichester. 

Jerry  interrupted  her  anxiously :  "  Mrs.  Chichester, 
I  was  entirely  to  blame  for  last  night's  unfortunate  busi- 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  329 

ness.  Don't  visit  your  displeasure  on  the  poor  little 
child.  Please  don't." 

"  I've  tried  to  tell  her  that  I'll  overlook  it.  But  she 
seems  determined  to  go.  Can  you  suggest  anything  that 
might  make  her  stay  ?  She  seems  to  like  you  —  and  after 
all  —  as  you  so  generously  admit  —  it  was  —  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  your  fault." 

Before  Jerry  could  reply,  Jarvis  came  down  the  stairs 
with  a  pained  —  not  to  say  mortified  —  expression  on  his 
face.  Underneath  his  left  arm  he  held  tightly  a  shabby 
little  bag  and  a  freshly  wrapped  up  parcel:  in  his  right 
hand,  held  far  away  from  his  body,  was  the  melancholy 
and  picturesque  terrier  — *'  Michael." 

Mrs.  Chichester  looked  at  him  in  horror. 

"  Where  are  you  going  with  those  —  things?  "  she 
gasped. 

"  To  put  them  in  a  cab,  madam,"  answered  the  hu- 
miliated footman.  "  Your  niece's  orders." 

"  Put  those  articles  in  a  travelling-bag  —  use  one  of  my 
daughter's,"  ordered  the  old  lady. 

"  Your  niece  objects,  madam.  She  sez  she'll  take  noth- 
ing away  she  didn't  bring  with  her." 

The  grief-stricken  woman  turned  away  as  Jarvis 
passed  out.  Alaric  tried  to  comfort  her.  But  the  strain 
of  the  morning  had  been  too  great.  Mrs.  Chichester 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Don't  weep,  mater.  Please  don't.  It  can't  be 
helped.  We've  all  done  our  best.  I  know  I  have!" 
and  Alaric  put  his  mother  carefully  down  on  the  lounge 
and  sat  beside  her  on  the  arm.  He  looked  cheerfully  at 
Jerry  and  smiled  as  he  said: 

"  I  even  offered  to  marry  her  if  she'd  stay.  Couldn't 
do  more  than  that,  could  I?  " 


330  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Hawkes  listened  intently. 

Jerry  returned  Alaric's  smile  as  he  asked: 

"  You  offered  to  marry  her?  " 

Alaric  nodded: 

"  Poor  little  wretch.  Still  I'd  have  gone  through  with 
it." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  "  queried  Jerry. 

"  First  of  all  she  laughed  in  my  face  —  right  in  my 
face  —  the  little  beggar !  " 

Hawkes  frowned  gloomily  as  though  at  some  painful 
remembrance. 

"  And  after  she  had  concluded  her  cachinnatory  out- 
burst, she  coolly  told  me  she  would  rather  have  *  Michael.' 
She  is  certainly  a  remarkable  little  person  and  outside 
of  the  inconvenience  of  having  her  here,  we  should  all  be 
delighted  to  go  on  taking  care  of  her.  And  if  dancing  is 
the  rock  we  are  going  to  split  on,  let  us  get  one  up  every 
week  for  her.  Eh,  Jerry?  You'd  come,  wouldn't  you?  " 

Down  the  stairs  came  Peg  and  Ethel.  Peg  was  hold- 
ing one  of  Ethel's  hands  tightly.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
thorough  understanding  between  them.  Peg  was  dressed 
in  the  same  little  black  suit  she  wore  when  she  first  entered 
the  Chichester  family  and  the  same  little  hat. 

They  all  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  amusement,  in- 
terrogation and  disgust  respectively. 

When  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  Ethel 
stopped  Peg  and  entreated: 

"Don't  go!" 

"  I  must.  There's  nothin'  in  the  wurrld  'ud  kape  me 
here  now.  Nothin' !  " 

"  I'll  drive  with  you  to  the  station.  May  I  ?  "  asked 
Ethel. 

"  All  right,  dear."  Peg  crossed  over  to  Mrs.  Chi- 
chester : 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  331 

"  Good-bye,  aunt.  I'm  sorry  I've  been  such  a  throuble 
to  ye." 

The  poor  lady  looked  at  Peg  through  misty  eyes  and 
said  reproachfully: 

"  Why  that  dress?  Why  not  one  of  the  dresses  I  gave 
you?" 

"  This  is  the  way  I  left  me  father,  an'  this  is  the  way 
I'm  goin'  back  to  him !  "  replied  Peg  sturdily.  "  Good- 
bye, Cousin  Alaric,"  and  she  laughed  good-naturedly  at 
the  odd  little  man.  In  spite  of  everything  he  did,  he  had 
a  spice  of  originality  about  him  that  compelled  Peg  to 
overlook  what  might  have  seemed  to  others  unpardonable 
priggishness. 

"  Good-bye  —  little  devil !  "  cried  Alaric,  cheerfully 
taking  the  offered  hand.  "  Good  luck  to  ye.  And  take 
care  of  yerself,"  added  Alaric,  generously. 

As  Peg  turned  away  from  him,  she  came  face  to  face 
with  Jerry  —  or  as  she  kept  calling  him  in  her  brain  by 
his  new  name  —  to  her  —  Sir  Gerald  Adair.  She 
dropped  her  eyes  and  timidly  held  out  her  hand: 

"  Good-bye  !  "  was  all  she  said. 

"  You're  not  going,  Peg,"  said  Jerry,  quietly  and  posi- 
tively. 

"  Who's  goin'  to  stop  me?  " 

"The  Chief  Executor  of  the  late  Mr.  Kingsnorth's 
will." 

"  An'  who  is  that?  " 

"  «  Mr.  Jerry,'  Peg !  " 

"  You  an  executor?  " 

"  I  am.  Sit  down  —  here  in  our  midst  —  and  know 
why  you  have  been  here  all  the  past  month." 

As  he  forced  Peg  gently  into  a  chair,  Mrs.  Chichester 
and  Alaric  turned  indignantly  on  him.  Mr.  Hawkes 
moved  down  to  listen,  and,  if  necessary,  advise. 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

There  was  pleasure  showing  on  one  face  only  —  on 
Ethel's. 

She  alone  wanted  Peg  to  understand  her  position  in 
that  house. 

Since  the  previous  night  the  real  womanly  note  had 
awakened  in  Ethel. 

Her  heart  went  out  to  Peg, 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PEG  LEARNS  OF  HER  UNCLE's  LEGACY 

PEG  looked  up  wonderingly  from  the  chair. 

"  Me  cab's  at  the  door ! "  she  said,  warningly  to  Jerry. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  insist,  but  you  must  give  me  a  few 
moments,"  said  the  Chief  Executor. 

"  Must?  "  cried  Peg. 

"  It  is  urgent,"  replied  Jerry  quietly. 

"  Well,  then  —  hurry ; "  and  Peg  sat  on  the  edge  of 
the  chair,  nervously  watching  "  Jerry." 

"  Have  you  ever  wondered  at  the  real  reason  you  were 
brought  here  to  this  house  and  the  extraordinary  inter- 
est taken  in  you  by  relations  who,  until  a  month  ago,  had 
never  even  bothered  about  your  existence?  " 

"  I  have,  indeed,"  Peg  answered.  "  But  whenever  I've 
asked  any  one,  I've  always  been  told  it  was  me  uncle's 
wish." 

"And  it  was.  Indeed,  his  keenest  desire,  just  before 
his  death,  was  to  atone  in  some  way  for  his  unkindness  to 
your  mother." 

"  Nothin'  could  do  that,"  and  Peg's  lips  tightened. 

"  That  was  why  he  sent  for  you." 

"  Sendin'  for  me  won't  bring  me  poor  mother  back  to 
life,  will  it?" 

"  At  least  we  must  respect  his  intentions.  He  desired 
that  you  should  be  given  the  advantages  your  mother 
had  when  she  was  a  girl." 

"  '  Ye've  made  yer  bed ;  lie  in  it '  !  That  was  the 
message  he  sent  me  mother  when  she  was  starvin'.  And 

why?     Because  she  loved  me  father.     Well,  7  love  me 

333 


334 

father  an*  if  he  thought  his  money  could  separate  us  he 
might  just  as  well  have  let  me  alone.  No  one  will  ever 
separate  us." 

"  In  justice  to  yourself,"  proceeded  Jerry,  "  you  must 
know  that  he  set  aside  the  sum  of  one  thousand  pounds 
a  year  to  be  paid  to  the  lady  who  would  undertake  your 
training." 

Mrs.  Chichester  covered  her  eyes  to  hide  the  tears  of 
mortification  that  sprang  readily  into  them. 

Alaric  looked  at  Jerry  in  absolute  disgust. 

Hawkes  frowned  his  disapproval. 

Peg  sprang  up  and  walked  across  to  her  aunt  and 
looked  down  at  her. 

"  A  thousand  pounds  a  year ! "  She  turned  to  Jerry 
and  asked :  "  Does  she  get  a  thousand  a  year  for  abusin' 
me?" 

"  For  taking  care  of  you,"  corrected  Jerry. 

"  Well,  what  do  ye  think  of  that  ?  "  cried  Peg,  gazing 
curiously  at  Mrs.  Chichester.  "  A  thousand  pounds  a 
year  for  makin'  me  miserable,  an'  the  poor  dead  man 
thinkin'  he  was  doin'  me  a  favour !  " 

"  I  tell  you  this,"  went  on  Jerry,  "  because  I  don't  want 
you  to  feel  that  you  have  been  living  on  charity.  You 
have  not." 

Peg  suddenly  blazed  up: 

"  Well,  I've  been  made  to  feel  it,"  and  she  glared  pas- 
sionately at  her  aunt.  "  Why  wasn't  I  told  this  before  ? 
If  I'd  known  it  I'd  never  have  stayed  with  ye  a  minnit ! 
Who  are  you,  I'd  like  to  know,  to  bring  me  up  any 
betther  than  me  father?  He's  just  as  much  a  gentleman 
as  any  of  yez.  He  never  hurt  a  poor  girl's  feelin's  just 
because  she  was  poor.  Suppose  he  hasn't  any  money? 
Nor  me?  What  of  it?  Is  it  a  crime?  What  has  yer 
money  an'  yer  breedin'  done  for  you?  It's  dried  up  the 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  335 

very  blood  in  yer  veins,  that's  what  it  has !  Yer  fright- 
ened to  show  one  real,  human,  kindly  impulse.  Ye  don't 
know  what  happiness  an'  freedom  mean.  An'  if  that  is 
what  money  does,  I  don't  want  it.  Give  me  what  I've 
been  used  to  —  poverty.  At  least  I  can  laugh  some- 
times from  me  heart,  an'  get  some  pleasure  out  o'  life 
without  disgracin'  people !  " 

Peg's  anger  gave  place  to  just  as  sudden  a  twinge  of 
regret  as  she  caught  sight  of  Ethel,  white-faced,  and 
staring  at  her  compassionately.  She  went  across  to  Ethel 
and  buried  her  face  on  her  shoulder  and  wept  as  she 
wailed. 

"  Why  wasn't  I  told !  I'd  never  have  stayed !  Why 
wasn't  I  told?  " 

And  Ethel  comforted  her: 

"  Don't  cry,  dear,"  she  whispered.  "  Don't.  The  day 
you  came  here  we  were  beggars.  You  have  literally 
fed  and  housed  us  for  the  last  month." 

Peg  looked  up  at  Ethel  in  astonishment. 

She  forgot  her  own  sorrow. 

"  Ye  were  beggars  ?  " 

"  Yes.  We  have  nothing  but  the  provision  made  for 
your  training." 

Poor  Mrs.  Chichester  looked  at  her  daughter  reproach- 
fully. 

Alaric  had  never  seen  his  sister  even  interested  much 
less  excited  before.  He  turned  to  his  mother,  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  said: 

"  I  give  it  up !  That's  all  I  can  say  !  I  simply  give  it 
up!" 

Peg  grasped  the  full  meaning  of  Ethel's  words: 

"  And  will  ye  have  nothin'  if  I  go  away  ?  " 

Peg  paused:     Ethel  did  not  speak. 

Peg  persisted: 


336  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  Tell  me  —  are  ye  ralely  dependin'  on  me?  Spake 
to  me.  Because  if  ye  are,  I  won't  go.  I'll  stay  with  ye. 
I  wouldn't  see  ye  beggars  for  the  wurrld.  I've  been 
brought  up  amongst  them,  an'  I  know  what  it  is." 

Suddenly  she  took  Ethel  by  the  shoulders  and  asked 
in  a  voice  so  low  that  none  of  the  others  heard  her : 

"  Was  that  the  reason  ye  were  goin'  last  night  ?  " 

Ethel  tried  to  stop  her. 

The  truth  illumined  Ethel's  face  and  Peg  saw  it  and 
knew. 

"  Holy  Mary ! "  she  cried,  "  and  it  was  I  was  drivin' 
ye  to  it.  Ye  felt  the  insult  of  it  every  time  ye  met  me 
• —  as  ye  said  last  night.  Sure,  if  I'd  known,  dear,  I'd 
never  have  hurt  ye,  I  wouldn't !  Indade,  I  wouldn't ! " 

She  turned  to  the  others: 

"  There !  It's  all  settled.  I'll  stay  with  ye,  aunt,  an' 
ye  can  tache  me  anythin'  ye  like.  Will  some  one  ask 
Jarvis  to  bring  back  me  bundles  an*  *  Michael.'  I'm  goin' 
to  stay  1 " 

Jerry  smiled  approvingly  at  her.     Then  he  said : 

"  That  is  just  what  I  would  have  expected  you  to  do. 
But,  my  dear  Peg,  there's  no  need  for  such  a  sacrifice." 

"  Sure,  why  not  ?  "  cried  Peg,  excitedly.  "  Let  me 
sacrifice  meself.  I  feel  like  it  this  minnit." 

"  There  is  no  occasion." 

He  walked  over  to  Mrs.  Chichester  and  addressed  her: 

"  I  came  here  this  morning  with  some  very  good  news 
for  you.  I  happen  to  be  one  of  the  directors  of  Gifford's 
bank  and  I  am  happy  to  say  that  it  will  shortly  reopen 
its  doors  and  ah1  the  depositors'  money  will  be  available 
for  them  in  a  little  while." 

Mrs.  Chichester  gave  a  cry  of  joy  as  she  looked  proudly 
at  her  two  children: 

"  Oh,  Alaric  !  "  she  exclaimed :     "  My  darling  Ethel !  " 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  337 

"  Reopen  its  doors  ?  "  Alaric  commented  contemptu- 
ously. "  So  it  jolly  well  ought  to.  What  right  had  it 
to  close  'em?  That's  what  /  want  to  know.  What 
right?" 

"  A  panic  in  American  securities,  in  which  we  were 
heavily  interested,  caused  the  suspension  of  business," 
explained  Jerry.  "  The  panic  is  over.  The  securities 
are  rising  every  day.  We'll  soon  be  on  easy  street 
again." 

"  See  here,  mater,"  remarked  Alaric  firmly,  "  every 
ha'penny  of  ours  goes  out  of  Gifford's  bank  and  into 
something  that  has  a  bottom  to  it.  In  future,  I'll  manage 
the  business  of  this  family." 

The  Chichester  family,  reunited  in  prosperity,  had 
apparently  forgotten  the  forlorn  little  girl  sitting  on  the 
chair,  who  a  moment  before  had  offered  to  take  up  the 
load  of  making  things  easier  for  them  by  making  them 
harder  for  herself. 

All  their  backs  were  turned  to  her. 

Jerry  looked  at  her.  She  caught  his  eye  and  smiled, 
but  it  had  a  sad  wistfulness  behind  it. 

"  Sure,  they  don't  want  me  now.  I'd  better  take  me 
cab.  Good  day  to  yez."  And  she  started  quickly  for 
the  door. 

Jerry  stopped  her. 

"  There  is  just  one  more  condition  of  Mr.  Kingsnorth's 
will  that  you  must  know.  Should  you  go  through  your 
course  of  training  satisfactorily  to  the  age  of  twenty- 
one,  you  will  inherit  the  sum  of  five  thousand  pounds  a 
year." 

"  When  I'm  twenty-one,  I  get  five  thousand  pounds 
a  year?"  gasped  Peg. 

"  If  you  carry  out  certain  conditions." 

"An*  what  are  they?" 


338 

"  Satisfy  the  executors  that  you  are  worthy  of  the 
legacy." 

"  Satisfy  you?  " 

"And  Mr.  Hawkes." 

Peg  looked  at  the  somewhat  uncomfortable  lawyer,  who 
reddened  and  endeavoured  to  appear  at  ease. 

"  Mr.  Hawkes !  Oho !  Indade  !  " '  She  turned  back 
to  Jerry:  "  Did  he  know  about  the  five  thousand? 
When  I'm  twenty-one  ?  " 

"  He  drew  the  will  at  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  dictation,"  re- 
plied Jerry. 

"  Was  that  why  ye  wanted  me  to  be  engaged  to  ye  until 
I  was  twenty-one?  "  she  asked  the  unhappy  lawyer. 

Hawkes  tried  to  laugh  it  off. 

"  Come,  come,  Miss  O'Connell,"  he  said,  "  what  non- 
sense ! " 

"  Did  you  propose  to  Miss  Margaret  ?  "  queried  Jerry. 

"  Well  — "  hesitated  the  embarrassed  lawyer  —  "  in  a 
measure  —  yes." 

"  That's  what  it  was,"  cried  Peg,  with  a  laugh.  "  It 
was  very  measured.  No  wondher  the  men  were  crazy 
to  kape  me  here  and  to  marry  me." 

She  caught  sight  of  Alaric  and  smiled  at  him.  He 
creased  his  face  into  a  sickly  imitation  of  a  smile  and 
murmured : 

"  Well,  of  course,  I  mean  to  say ! "  with  which  clear 
and  well-defined  expression  of  opinion,  he  stopped. 

"  I  could  have  forgiven  you,  Alaric,"  said  Peg,  "  but 
Mr.  Hawkes,  I'm  ashamed  of  ye." 

"  It  was  surely  a  little  irregular,  Hawkes,"  suggested 
Jerry. 

"  I  hardly  agree  with  you,  Sir  Gerald.  There  can  be 
nothing  irregular  in  a  simple  statement  of  affection." 

"  Affection  is  it  ?  "  cried  Peg. 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  339 

"  Certainly.  We  are  both  alone  in  the  world.  Miss 
O'Connell  seemed  to  be  unhappy:  the  late  Mr.  Kings- 
north  desired  that  she  should  be  trained  —  it  seemed  to  me 
to  be  an  admirable  solution  of  the  whole  difficulty." 

Peg  laughed  openly  and  turning  to  Jerry,  said: 

"  He  calls  himself  a  *  solution.'  Misther  Hawkes  — 
go  on  with  ye  —  I  am  ashamed  of  ye." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  harm  done,"  replied  Mr.  Hawkes, 
endeavouring  to  regain  his  lost  dignity. 

"No!"  retorted  Peg.  "It  didn't  go  through,  did 
it?" 

Hawkes  smiled  at  that,  and  taking  Peg's  hand,  pro- 
tested : 

"  However  —  always  your  friend  and  well-wisher." 

"  But  nivver  me  husband !  "  insisted  Peg. 

"  Good-bye." 

"  Where  are  ye  goin'  without  me  ?  " 

"  You  surely  are  not  returning  to  America  now?  "  said 
Hawkes,  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  of  course,  I'm  goin'  to  me  father  now.  Where 
else  would  I  go?  " 

Hawkes  hastened  to  explain: 

"  If  you  return  to  America  to  your  father,  you  will  vio- 
late one  of  the  most  important  clauses  in  the  will." 

"  If  I  go  back  to  me  father?  " 

"  Or  if  he  visits  you  —  until  you  are  twenty-one," 
added  Jerry. 

"  Is  that  so?  "  And  the  blood  rushed  up  to  Peg's 
temples.  "  Well,  then,  that  settles  it.  No  man  is  goin' 
to  dictate  to  me  about  me  father.  No  dead  man  —  nor 
no  livin'  one  nayther." 

"  It  will  make  you  a  rich  young  lady  in  three  years, 
remember.  You  will  be  secure  from  any  possibility  of 
poverty." 


340  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I  don't  care.  I  wouldn't  stay  over  here  for  three 
years  with  — "  she  caught  Mrs.  Chichester's  eyes  fas- 
tened on  her  and  she  checked  herself. 

"  I  wouldn't  stay  away  from  me  father  for  three  years 
for  all  the  money  in  the  wurrld,"  she  concluded,  with 
marked  finality. 

"  Very  well,"  agreed  Jerry.  Then  he  spoke  to  the 
others :  "  Now,  may  I  have  a  few  moments  alone  with 
my  ward?  " 

The  family  expressed  surprise. 

Hawkes  suggested  a  feeling  of  strong  displeasure. 

"  I  shall  wait  to  escort  you  down  to  the  boat,  Miss 
O'Connell."  Bowing  to  every  one,  the  man  of  law  left 
the  room. 

Peg  stared  at  Jerry  incredulously. 

"  Ward?     Is  that  me?  " 

"  Yes,  Peg.  I  am  your  legal  guardian  —  appointed 
by  Mr.  Kingsnorth !  " 

"  You're  the  director  of  a  bank,  the  executor  of  an 
estate,  an'  now  ye're  me  guardian.  What  do  ye  do  with 
yer  spare  time?  " 

Jerry  smiled  and  appealed  to  the  others : 

"  Just  a  few  seconds  —  alone." 

Mrs.  Chichester  went  to  Peg  and  said  coldly : 

"  Good-bye,  Margaret.  It  is  unlikely  we'll  meet  again. 
I  hope  you  have  a  safe  and  pleasant  journey." 

"  Thank  ye,  Aunt  Monica."  Poor  Peg  longed  for  at 
least  one  little  sign  of  affection  from  her  aunt.  She 
leaned  forward  to  kiss  her.  The  old  lady  either  did  not 
see  the  advance  or  did  not  reciprocate  what  it  implied. 
She  went  on  upstairs  out  of  sight. 

Mingled  with  her  feeling  of  relief  that  she  would  never 
again  be  slighted  and  belittled  by  Mrs.  Chichester,  she 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  341 

was  hurt  to  the  heart  by  the  attitude  of  cold  indifference 
with  which  her  aunt  treated  her. 

She  was  indeed  overjoyed  to  think  now  it  was  the  last 
she  would  ever  see  of  the  old  lady. 

Alaric  held  out  his  hand  frankly: 

"Jolly  decent  of  ye  to  offer  to  stay  here  —  just  to 
keep  us  goin' —  awfully  decent.  You  are  certainly  a 
little  wonder.  I'll  miss  you  terribly  —  really  I  will." 

Peg  whispered: 

"  Did  ye  know  about  that  five  thousand  pounds  when 
I'm  twenty-one  ?  " 

"  'Course  I  did.  That  was  why  I  proposed.  To  save 
the  roof."  Alaric  was  nothing  if  not  honest. 

"  Ye'd  have  sacrificed  yeself  by  marryin'  me?  "  quizzed 
Peg. 

"  Like  a  shot." 

"  There's  somethin'  of  the  hero  about  you,  Ala- 
ric ! " 

"  Oh,  I  mustn't  boast,"  he  replied  modestly.  "  It's  all 
in  the  family." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  ye  didn't  have  to  do  it,"  Peg  remarked 
positively. 

"  So  am  I.  Jolly  good  of  you  to  say  '  No.'  All  the 
luck  in  the  world  to  you.  Drop  me  a  line  or  a  picture- 
card  from  New  York.  Look  you  up  on  my  way  to 
Canada  — if  I  ever  really  go.  'Bye!"  The  young 
man  walked  over  to  the  door  calling  over  his  shoulder  to 
Jerry :  "  See  ye  lurchin'  about  somewhere,  old  dear !  " 
and  he  too  went  out  of  Peg's  life. 

She  looked  at  Ethel  and  half  entreated,  half  com- 
manded Jerry: 

"  Plaze  look  out  of  the  window  for  a  minnit.  I  want  to 
spake  to  me  cousin." 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Jerry  sauntered  over  to  the  window  and  stood  looking 
at  the  gathering  storm. 

"Is  that  all  over?"  whispered  Peg. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ethel,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Ye'll  never  see  him  again  ?  " 

"  Never.  I'll  write  him  that.  What  must  you  think 
Df  me?" 

"  I  thought  of  you  all  last  night,"  said  Peg  eagerly. 
"  Ye  seem  like  some  one  who's  been  lookin'  for  happiness 
in  the  dark  with  yer  eyes  shut.  Open  them  wide,  dear, 
and  look  at  the  beautiful  things  in  the  daylight  and  then 
you'll  be  happy." 

Ethel  shook  her  head  sadly : 

"  I  feel  to-day  that  I'll  never  know  happiness  again." 

"  Sure,  I've  felt  like  that  many  a  time  since  I've  been 
here.  Ye  know  three  meals  a  day,  a  soft  bed  to  slape  in 
an'  everythin'  ye  want  besides,  makes  ye  mighty  discon- 
tented. If  ye'd  go  down  among  the  poor  once  in  a  while 
an'  see  what  they  have  to  live  on,  an'  thry  and  help  them, 
ye  might  find  comfort  and  peace  in  doin'  it." 

Ethel  put  both  of  her  hands  affectionately  on  Peg's 
shoulders. 

"  Last  night  you  saved  me  from  myself  —  and  then 
you  shielded  me  from  my  family." 

"  Faith  I'd  do  that  for  any  poor  girl,  much  less  me  own 
cousin." 

"  Don't  think  too  hardly  of  me,  Margaret.  Please !  " 
she  entreated. 

"  I  don't,  dear.  It  wasn't  yer  fault.  It  was  yer  moth- 
er's." 

"My  mother's?" 

"  That's  what  I  said.  It's  all  in  the  way  we're 
brought  up  what  we  become  aftherwards.  Yer  mother 
raised  ye  in  a  hot  house  instead  of  thrustin'  ye  out  into 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  343 

the  cold  winds  of  the  wurrld  when  ye  were  young  and 
gettin'  ye  used  them.  She  taught  ye  to  like  soft 
silks  and  shining  satins  an'  to  look  down  on  the  poor,  an' 
the  shabby.  That's  no  way  to  bring  up  anybody.  An- 
other thing  ye  learnt  from  her  —  to  be  sacret  about  things 
that  are  near  yer  heart  instead  of  encouragin'  ye  to  be 
outspoken  an'  honest.  Of  course  I  don't  think  badly 
of  ye.  Why  should  I  ?  I  had  the  advantage  of  ye  all  the 
time.  It  isn't  ivery  girl  has  the  bringin'  up  such  as  I 
got  from  me  father.  So  let  yer  mind  be  aisy,  dear.  I 
think  only  good  of  ye.  God  bless  ye  1 "  She  took  Ethel 
gently  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  I'll  drive  down  with  you,"  said  Ethel,  brokenly,  and 
hurried  out. 

Peg  stood  looking  after  her  for  a  moment,  then  she 
turned  and  looked  at  Jerry,  who  was  still  looking  out  of 
the  window. 

"  She's  gone,"  said  Peg,  quietly. 

Jerry  walked  down  to  her. 

"  Are  you  still  determined  to  go?  "  he  asked. 

« I  am." 

"  And  you'll  leave  here  without  a  regret?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that  sure." 

"  We've  been  good  friends,  haven't  we  ?  " 

"I  thought  we  were,"  she  answered  gently.  "But 
friendship  must  be  honest.  Why  didn't  ye  tell  me  ye 
were  a  gentleman?  Sure,  how  was  I  to  know?  *  Jerry  ' 
might  mean  anybody.  Why  didn't  ye  tell  me  ye  had  a 
title?" 

"  I  did  nothing  to  get  it.  Just  inherited  it,"  he  said 
simply.  Then  he  added:  "I'd  drop  it  altogether  if  I 
could." 

"Would  ye?"  she  asked  curiously. 

"I  would.     And  as  for  being  a  gentleman,  why  one 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

of  the  finest  I  ever  met  drove  a  cab  in  Piccadilly.  He  was 
a  gentle  man  —  that  is  —  one  who  never  willingly  hurts 
another.  Strange  in  a  cabman,  eh?  " 

"  Why  did  ye  let  me  treat  ye  all  the  time  as  an 
equal?  " 

"  Because  you  are  —  superior  in  many  things.  Gen- 
erosity, for  instance." 

"  Oh,  don't  thry  the  comther  on  me.  I  know  ye  now. 
Nothin'  seems  the  same." 

"  Nothing?  " 

"Nothin'!'* 

"  Are  we  never  to  play  like  children  again  ? "  he 
pleaded. 

"  No,"  she  said  firmly.  "  Ye'll  have  to  come  out  to 
New  York  to  do  it.  An'  then  I  mightn't." 

"Will  nothing  make  you  stay?" 

"  Nothing.     I'm  just  achin'  for  me  home." 

"  Such  as  t his  could  never  be  home  to  you  ?  " 

'*  This?     Never,"  she  replied  positively. 

"  I'm  sorry.     Will  you  ever  think  of  me  ?  " 

He  waited.      She  averted  her  eyes  and  said  nothing. 

"  Will  you  write  to  me?  "  he  urged. 

"What  for?" 

"  I'd  like  to  hear  of  you  and  from  you.     Will  you  ?  " 

"Just  to  laugh  at  me  spellin'?  " 

"  Peg !  "     He  drew  near  to  her. 

"  Sir  Gerald  1 "  she  corrected  him  and  drew  a  little 
away. 

"  Peg,  my  dear !  "  He  took  both  of  her  hands  in  his 
and  bent  over  her. 

Just  for  a  moment  was  Peg  tempted  to  yield  to  the 
embrace. 

Had  she  done  so,  the  two  lives  would  have  changed  in 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  345 

that  moment.     But  the  old  rebellious  spirit  came  upper- 
most, and  she  looked  at  him  defiantly  and  cried : 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  propose  to  me,  too  ?  " 

That  was  the  one  mistake  that  separated  those  two 
hearts.  Sir  Gerald  drew  back  from  her  —  hurt. 

She  was  right  —  they  were  not  equals. 

She  could  not  understand  him,  since  he  could  never 
quite  say  all  he  felt,  and  she  could  never  divine  what  was 
left  unsaid. 

She  was  indeed  right. 

Such  as  this  could  never  be  a  home  for  her. 

Jarvis  came  quietly  in: 

"  Mr.  Hawkes  says,  Miss,  if  you  are  going  to  catch  the 
train  — " 

"  I'll  catch  it,"  said  Peg  impatiently ;  and  Jarvis  went 
out. 

Peg  looked  at  Jerry's  back  turned  eloquently  toward 
her,  as  though  in  rebuke. 

"  Why  in  the  wurrld  did  I  say  that  to  him?  "  she  mut- 
tered. "  It's  me  Irish  tongue."  She  went  to  the  door, 
and  opened  it  noisily,  rattling  the  handle  loudly  —  hoping 
he  would  look  around. 

But  he  never  moved. 

She  accepted  the  attitude  as  one  of  dismissal. 

Under  her  breath  she  murmured: 

"  Good-bye,  Misther  Jerry  —  an'  God  bless  ye  —  an' 
thank  ye  for  bein'  so  nice  to  me."  And  she  passed  out. 

In  the  hall  Peg  found  Ethel  and  Hawkes  waiting  for 
her. 

They  put  her  between  them  in  the  cab  and  with 
"  Michael  "  in  her  arms,  she  drove  through  the  gates  of 
Regal  Villa  never  to  return. 

The  gathering  storm  broke  as  she  reached  the  station. 


346  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

In  storm  Jerry  came  into  her  life,  in  storm  she  was 
leaving  his. 

The  threads  of  what  might  have  been  a  fitting  addition 
to  the  "  Love  Stories  of  the  World  "  were  broken. 

•flould  the  break  ever  be  healed? 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


MANY'  and  conflicting  were  Peg's  feelings  as  she  went 
aboard  the  ship  that  was  to  carry  her  from  England  for- 
ever. 

In  that  short  month  she  had  experienced  more  con- 
trasted feelings  than  in  all  the  other  years  she  had  lived. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  left  her  girlhood,  with  all  its 
keen  hardships  and  sweet  memories,  behind  her. 

When  the  vessel  swung  around  the  dock  in  Liverpool 
and  faced  toward  America  Peg  felt  that  not  only  was  she 
going  back  to  the  New  World,  but  she  was  about  to 
begin  a  new  existence.  Nothing  would  ever  be  quite  the 
same  again.  She  had  gone  through  the  leavening  process 
of  emotional  life  and  had  come  out  of  it  with  her  courage 
still  intact,  her  honesty  unimpaired,  but  somehow  with 
her  faith  abruptly  shaken.  She  had  believed  and  trusted, 
and  she  had  been  —  she  thought  —  entirely  mistaken,  and 
it  hurt  her  deeply. 

Exactly  why  Peg  should  have  arrived  at  such  a  con- 
dition —  bordering  as  it  was  on  cynicism  —  was  in  one 
sense  inexplicable,  yet  from  another  point  of  view  easily 
understood.  That  Jerry  had  not  told  her  all  about  him- 
self when  they  first  met,  as  she  did  about  herself  to  him, 
did  not  necessarily  imply  deceit  on  his  part.  Had  she 
asked  any  member  or  servant  in  the  Chichester  family 
who  and  what  "  Jerry  "  was  they  would  readily  have 
told  her.  But  that  was  contrary  to  Peg's  nature.  If 
she  liked  anyone,  she  never  asked  questions  about  them. 
It  suggested  a  doubt,  and  doubt  to  Peg  meant  disloyalty 

347 


348  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

in  friendship  and  affection.  Everyone  had  referred  to 
this  young  gentleman  as  "  Jerry."  He  even  introduced 
himself  by  that  unromantic  and  undignified  name.  No 
one  seemed  to  treat  him  with  any  particular  deference, 
nor  did  anything  in  his  manner  seem  to  demand  it.  She 
had  imagined  that  anyone  with  a  title  should  not  only 
be  proud  of  it,  but  would  naturally  hasten  to  let  every- 
one they  met  become  immediately  aware  whom  they  were 
addressing. 

She  vividly  remembered  her  father  pointing  out  to  her 
a  certain  north-of-Ireland  barrister  who  —  on  the 
strength  of  securing  more  convictions  under  the  "  Crimes 
Act "  than  any  other  j  urist  in  the  whole  of  Ireland  — 
was  rewarded  with  the  Royal  and  Governmental  approval 
by  having  conferred  on  him  the  distinction  and  dignity 
of  knighthood.  It  was  the  crowning-point  of  his  career. 
It  has  steadily  run  through  his  life  since  as  a  thin  flame 
of  scarlet.  He  lives  and  breathes  "  knighthood."  He 
thinks  and  speaks  it.  He  demands  recognition  from  his 
equals,  even  as  he  compels  it  from  his  inferiors.  Her 
father  told  Peg  that  all  the  servants  were  drilled  care- 
fully to  call  him  — "  Sir  Edward." 

His  relations,  unaccustomed  through  their  drab  lives 
to  the  usages  of  the  great,  found  extreme  difficulty  in 
acquiring  the  habit  of  using  the  new  appellation  in  the 
place  of  the  nick-name  of  his  youth  — "  Ted."  It  was 
only  when  it  was  made  a  condition  of  being  permitted  an 
audience  with  the  gifted  and  honoured  lawyer,  that  they 
allowed  their  lips  to  meekly  form  the  servile  "  Sir ! " 
when  addressing  their  distinguished  relation. 

When  he  visited  Dublin  Castle  to  consult  with  his 
Chiefs,  and  any  of  his  old-time  associates  hailed  him 
familiarly  as  "  Ted ! "  a  grieved  look  would  cross  his 
semi-Scotch  features,  and  he  would  hasten  to  correct  in 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  349 

his  broad,  coarse  brogue:  "  Sir  Edward,  me  friend!  Be 
the  Grace  of  Her  Majesty  and  the  British  Government  — 
Sir  Edward  —  if  —  ye  plaze !  " 

There  was  one  who  took  pride  in  the  use  of  his  title. 

He  desired  and  exacted  the  full  tribute  due  the  dignity 
it  carried.  Then  why  did  not  "  Jerry  "  do  the  same  ? 

She  did  not  appreciate  that  to  him  the  prefix  having 
been  handed  down  from  generations,  was  as  natural  to 
him  as  it  was  unnatural  to  the  aforementioned  criminal 
lawyer.  The  one  was  born  with  it,  consequently  it  be- 
came second  nature  to  him.  The  other  had  it  conferred 
on  him  for  his  zeal  in  procuring  convictions  of  his  own 
countrymen,  and  never  having  in  his  most  enthusiastic 
dreams  believed  such  a  condition  would  come  to  pass  — 
now  that  it  was  an  accomplished  fact,  he  naturally 
wanted  all  to  know  and  respect  it. 

They  were  two  distinct  breeds  of  men. 

Peg  had  occasionally  met  the  type  of  the  honoured  law- 
yer. They  sprang  up  as  mushrooms  over  night  during 
the  pressure  of  the  "  Crimes  Act,"  and  were  liberally  re- 
warded by  the  government  —  some  were  even  transferred 
to  the  English  Bar.  And  they  carried  their  blatant  in- 
sistence even  across  the  channel. 

But  the  man  of  breeding  who  exacted  nothing;  of  cul- 
ture, who  pretended  not  to  have  acquired  it ;  of  the  real 
power  and  dignity  of  life,  yet  was  simplicity  itself  in  his 
manner  to  others  —  that  kind  of  man  was  new  to  Peg. 

She  burned  with  shame  as  she  thought  of  her  leave- 
taking.  What  must  Sir  Gerald  think  of  her? 

Even  to  the  end  she  was  just  the  little  "  Irish  nothin'." 
as  she  had  justly,  it  seemed  to  her  now,  described  herself 
to  him.  She  had  hurt  and  offended  him.  In  that  one 
rude,  foolish,  unnecessary  question,  "  Are  you  goin'  to 
propose  too?  "  she  had  outraged  common  courtesy,  and 


350  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

made  it  impossible  for  him  to  say  even  a  friendly  "  Good- 
bye "  to  her.  She  did  not  realise  the  full  measure  of  the 
insult  until  afterwards.  She  had  practically  insinuated 
that  he  was  following  the  somewhat  sordid  example  of 
cousin  Alaric  and  Montgomery  Hawkes  in  proposing  for 
her  hand  because,  in  a  few  years,  she  would  benefit  by  her 
uncle's  will.  Such  a  suggestion  was  not  only  unworthy 
of  her  —  it  was  an  unforgivable  thing  to  say  to  him. 
He  had  always  treated  her  with  the  greatest  courtesy 
and  consideration,  and  because  he  did  not  flaunt  his  gen- 
tility before  her,  she  had  taken  unwarranted  umbrage 
and  had  said  something  that  raised  an  impassable  barrier 
between  them. 

All  the  way  across  the  Atlantic  poor  lonely  Peg  had 
many  opportunities  of  reviewing  that  brief  glimpse  of 
English  life.  She  felt  now  how  wrong  her  attitude  had 
been  to  the  whole  of  the  Chichester  family.  She  had 
judged  them  at  first  sight.  She  had  resolved  that  they 
were  just  selfish,  inconsiderate,  characterless  people.  On 
reflection,  she  determined  that  they  were  not.  And  even 
if  they  had  been,  why  should  Peg  have  been  their  ac- 
cuser? And  after  all,  is  there  not  an  element  of  selfish- 
ness in  every  nature?  Was  Peg  herself  entirely  im- 
mune? 

And  in  a  family  with  traditions  to  look  back  on  and 
live  up  to,  have  they  not  a  greater  right  to  being  self- 
centred  than  the  plebeian  with  nothing  to  look  back  on 
or  forward  to?  And,  all  things  considered,  is  not  self- 
ishness a  thoroughly  human  and  entirely  natural  feeling? 
What  right  had  she  to  condemn  people  wholesale  for 
feeling  and  practising  it? 

These  were  the  sum  and  substance  of  Peg's  self-analy- 
sis during  the  first  days  of  her  voyage  home. 

Then  the  thought  came  to  her, —  were  the  Chichesters 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  351 

really  selfish?  Now  that  she  had  been  told  the  situation, 
she  knew  that  her  aunt  had  undertaken  her  training  to 
protect  Ethel  and  Alaric  from  distress  and  humiliation. 
She  realised  how  distasteful  it  must  have  been  to  a  lady 
of  Mrs.  Chichester's  nature  and  position  to  have  occa- 
sion to  receive  into  her  house,  amongst  her  own  family, 
such  a  girl  as  Peg.  And  she  had  not  made  it  easy  for 
her  aunt.  She  had  regarded  the  family  as  being  allied 
against  her. 

Was  it  not  largely  her  own  fault  if  they  Jiad  been? 
Peg's  sense  of  justice  was  asserting  itself. 

The  thought  of  Alaric  flashed  through  her  mind,  and 
with  it  came  a  little  pang  of  regret  for  the  many  occasions 
she  had  made  fun  of  him  —  and  in  his  mother's  presence. 
His  proposal  to  her  had  its  pathetic  as  well  as  its  hu- 
morous side.  To  save  his  family  he  would  have  delib- 
erately thrown  away  his  own  chance  of  happiness  by  mar- 
rying her.  Yet  he  would  have  done  it  willingly  and 
cheerfully  and,  from  what  she  had  seen  of  the  little  man, 
he  would  have  lived  up  to  his  obligations  honourably 
and  without  a  murmur. 

Alaric's  sense  of  relief  at  her  refusal  of  him  suddenly 
passed  before  her,  and  she  smiled  broadly  as  she  saw,  in 
a  mental  picture,  his  eager  and  radiant  little  face  as  he 
thanked  her  profusely  for  being  so  generous  as  to  refuse 
him.  Looking  back,  Alaric  was  by  no  means  as  con- 
temptible as  he  had  appeared  at  first  sight.  He  had  been 
coddled  too  much.  He  needed  the  spur  of  adversity  and 
the  light  of  battle  with  his  fellowmen.  Experience  and 
worldly  wisdom  could  make  him  a  useful  and  worthy 
citizen,  since  fundamentally  there  was  nothing  seriously 
wrong  with  him. 

Peg's  outlook  on  life  was  distinctly  becoming  clarified. 

Lastly,  she  thought  of  Ethel.     Poor,  unhappy,  lonely 


35£  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

Ethel!  In  her  little  narrow  ignorance,  Peg  had  taken 
an  intense  dislike  to  her  cousin  from  the  beginning.  Once 
or  twice  she  had  made  friendly  overtures  to  Ethel,  and 
had  always  been  repulsed.  She  placed  Ethel  in  the  cate- 
gory of  selfish  English-snobdom  that  she  had  heard  and 
read  about  and  now,  apparently,  met  face  to  face.  Then 
came  the  vivid  experience  at  night  when  Ethel  laid  bare 
her  soul  pitilessly  and  torrentially  for  Peg  to  see.  With 
it  came  the  realisation  of  the  heart-ache  and  misery 
of  this  outwardly  contented  and  entirely  unemotional 
young  lady.  Beneath  the  veneer  of  repression  and  con- 
vention Peg  saw  the  fires  of  passion  blazing  in  Ethel, 
and  the  cry  of  revolt  and  hatred  against  her  environment. 
But  for  Peg  she  would  have  thrown  away  her  life  on  a 
creature  such  as  Brent  because  there  was  no  one  near  her 
to  understand  and  to  pity  and  to  succour. 

Peg  shuddered  as  she  thought  of  the  rash  act  Ethel 
had  been  saved  from  —  blackening  her  life  in  the  com- 
pany of  that  satyr. 

How  many  thousands  of  girls  were  there  in  England  to- 
day, well-educated,  skilled  in  the  masonry  of  society  —  to 
all  outward  seeming  perfectly  contented,  awaiting  their 
final  summons  to  the  marriage-market  —  the  culmination 
of  their  brief,  inglorious  careers.  Yet  if  one  could  pene- 
trate beneath  the  apparent  calm,  one  might  find  boiling 
in  iheir  blood  and  beating  in  their  brains  the  same  revolt 
that  had  driven  Ethel  to  the  verge  of  the  Dead  Sea  of 
lost  hopes  and  vain  ambitions  —  the  vortex  of  scandal. 

When  from  time  to  time  a  girl  of  breeding  and  of  fam- 
ily elopes  with  an  under-servant  or  a  chauffeur,  the  un- 
fortunate incident  is  hushed  up  and  the  parents  attribute 
the  unhappy  occurrence  primarily  to  some  mental  or 
moral  twist  in  the  young  lady.  They  should  seek  the  fault 
in  their  own  hearts  and  lives.  It  is  the  home  life  of  Eng- 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  353 

land  that  is  responsible  for  a  large  portion  of  the  misery 
that  drives  the  victims  to  open  revolt.  The  children  are 
not  taught  from  the  time  they  can  first  speak  to  be  per- 
fectly frank  and  honest  about  everything  they  think  and 
feel.  They  are  too  often  left  in  the  care  of  servants  at 
an  age  when  parental  influence  has  the  greatest  signifi- 
cance. On  the  rare  occasions  when  they  are  permitted  to 
enter  the  august  presence  of  their  parents,  they  are 
often  treated  with  a  combination  of  tolerant  affection 
and  imperial  severity.  Small  wonder  the  little  ones  in 
their  development  to  adolescence  evade  giving  confidences 
that  have  neither  been  asked  for  nor  encouraged.  They 
have  to  learn  the  great  secrets  of  life  and  of  nature  from 
either  bitter  experience  or  from  the  lips  of  strangers. 
Children  and  parents  grow  up  apart.  It  often  takes  a 
convulsion  of  nature  or  a  devastating  scandal  to  awaken 
the  latter  to  the  full  realisation  of  their  responsibility. 

During  their  talk  the  morning  following  that  illumi- 
nating incident,  Peg  learned  more  of  Ethel's  real  nature 
than  she  had  done  in  all  of  the  four  weeks  she  had  seen 
and  listened  to  her  daily. 

She  had  opened  her  heart  to  Peg,  and  the  two  girls 
had  mingled  confidences.  If  they  had  only  begun  that 
way,  what  a  different  month  it  might  have  been  for  both ! 
Peg  resolved  to  watch  Ethel's  career  from  afar:  to  write 
to  her  constantly :  and  to  keep  fresh  and  green  the  mem- 
ory of  their  mutual  regard. 

At  times  there  would  flash  through  Peg's  mind  —  what 
would  her  future  in  America  be  —  with  her  father? 
Would  he  be  disappointed?  He  so  much  wanted  her  to 
be  provided  for  that  the  outcome  of  her  visit  abroad 
would  be,  of  a  certainty,  in  the  nature  of  a  severe  shock 
to  him.  What  would  be  the  outcome?  How  would  he 
receive  her?  And  what  had  all  the  days  to  come  in  store 


354  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

for  her  with  memory  searching  back  to  the  days  that 
were?  She  had  a  longing  now  for  education:  to  know 
the  essential  things  that  made  daily  intercourse  possible 
between  people  of  culture.  She  had  been  accustomed  to 
look  on  it  as  affectation.  Now  she  realised  that  it  was 
as  natural  to  those  who  had  acquired  the  masonry  of 
gentle  people  as  her  soft  brogue  and  odd,  blunt,  out- 
spoken ways  were  to  her. 

From  now  on  she  would  never  more  be  satisfied  with 
life  as  it  was  of  old.  She  had  passed  through  a  period 
of  awakening;  a  searchlight  had  been  turned  on  her  own 
shortcomings  and  lack  of  advantages.  She  had  not  been 
conscious  of  them  before,  since  she  had  been  law  unto 
herself.  But  now  a  new  note  beat  in  on  her.  It  was 
as  though  she  had  been  colour-blind  and  suddenly  had 
the  power  of  colour-differentiation  vouchsafed  her  and 
looked  out  on  a  world  that  dazzled  by  its  new-found  bril- 
liancy. It  was  even  as  though  she  had  been  tone-deaf 
and,  by  a  miracle,  had  the  gift  of  sweet  sounds  given 
her,  and  found  herself  bathed  in  a  flow  of  sweet  music. 
She  was  bewildered.  Her  view  of  life  had  changed.  She 
would  have  to  rearrange  her  outlook  by  her  experience  if 
she  hoped  to  find  happiness. 

And  always  as  she  brooded  and  argued  with  and  criti- 
cised herself  and  found  things  to  admire  in  what  had 
hitherto  been  wrong  to  her  —  always  the  face  of  Jerry 
rose  before  her  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  came  pleasantly 
to  her  ears  and  the  memory  of  his  regard  touched  gently 
at  her  heart,  and  the  thought  of  her  final  mistake  burnt 
and  throbbed  in  her  brain. 

And  with  each  pulsation  of  the  giant  engines  she  was 
carried  farther  and  farther  away  from  the  scene  of  her 
first  romance.  One  night  she  made  her  "  farewell  "  to 


PEG  IN  ENGLAND  355 

England  and  all  it  contained  that  had  played  a  part  in 
her  life. 

It  was  the  night  before  she  reached  New  York. 

As  she  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  America,  the  thought 
of  one  who  was  waiting  for  her  —  who  had  never  shown 
anger  or  resentment  toward  her  —  whatever  she  did ;  who 
had  never  shown  liking  for  any  but  her ;  who  had  always 
given  her  the  love  of  his  heart  and  the  fruit  of  his  brain ; 
who  had  sheltered  and  taught  and  loved  and  suffered  for 
her, — •  rose  insistently  before  her  and  obliterated  all  other 
impressions  and  all  other  memories. 

As  she  spoke  her  "  farewell "  to  England,  Peg  turned 
her  little  body  toward  the  quickly  nearing  shores  of 
America  and  thanked  God  that  waiting  to  greet  her 
would  be  her  father,  and  entreated  Him  that  he  would  be 
spared  to  her,  and  that  when  either  should  die  that  she 
might  be  called  first;  that  life  without  him  would  be 
barren  and  terrible!  and  above  all,  she  pleaded  that  He 
would  keep  her  h'ttle  heart  loyal  always  to  her  childhood- 
hero,  and  that  no  other  should  ever  supplant  her  father 
in  her  love  and  remembrance. 

When  she  awoke  next  day  amid  the  bustle  of  the  last 
morning  on  board,  it  seemed  that  her  prayer  had  been 
answered. 

Her  farewell  to  England  was  indeed  final. 

She  had  only  one  thought  uppermost  —  she  was  going 
to  see  her  father. 


BOOK  V 

f 


CHAPTER  I 

AFTER    MANY    DAYS 

FRANK  O'CONNEI/L  stood  on  the  quay  that  morning 
in  July,  and  watched  the  great  ship  slowly  swing  in 
through  the  heads,  and  his  heart  beat  fast  as  he  waited 
impatiently  while  they  moored  her. 

His  little  one  had  come  back  to  him. 

His  fears  were  at  rest. 

She  was  on  board  that  floating  mass  of  steel  and  iron, 
and  the  giant  queen  of  the  water  had  gallantly  sur- 
vived storm  and  wave  and  was  nestling  alongside  the 
pier. 

Would  she  be  the  same  Peg?  That  was  the  thought 
beating  through  him  as  he  strained  his  eyes  to  see  the 
familiar  and  beloved  little  figure.  Was  she  coming  back 
to  him  —  transformed  by  the  magic  wand  of  association 
—  a  great  lady  ?  He  could  scarcely  believe  that  she 
would,  yet  he  had  a  half-defined  fear  in  his  soul  that  she 
might  not  be  the  same. 

One  thing  he  made  up  his  mind  to  —  never  again 
would  he  think  of  separation.  Never  again  would  he 
argue  her  into  agreeing  to  go  away  from  him.  He  had 
learned  his  lesson  and  by  bitter  experience.  Never  again 
until  she  wished  it. 

Amid  the  throngs  swarming  down  the  gangways  he 
suddenly  saw  his  daughter,  and  he  gave  a  little  gasp  of 
surprised  pleasure,  and  a  mist  swam  before  his  eyes  and 
a  great  lump  came  into  his  throat  and  his  heart  beat  as 
a  trip-hammer.  It  was  the  same  Peg  that  had  gone  away 
a  month  ago.  The  same  little  black  suit  and  the  hat 

359 


360  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

with  the  berries  and  the  same  bag  and  "  Michael  "  in  her 
arms. 

Their  meeting  was  extraordinary.  It  was  quite  unlike 
what  either  had  supposed  it  would  be.  There  was  a  note 
of  strangeness  in  each.  There  was  —  added  to  the  ful- 
ness of  the  heart  —  an  aloofness  —  a  feeling  that,  in  the 
passage  of  time,  life  had  not  left  either  quite  the  same. 

How  often  that  happens  to  two  people  who  have  shared 
the  intimacy  of  years  and  the  affection  of  a  lifetime ! 
After  a  separation  of  even  a  little  while,  the  break  in 
their  joint-lives,  the  influence  of  strangers,  and  the  quick 
rush  of  circumstance  during  their  parting,  creates  a 
feeling  neither  had  ever  known.  The  interregnum  had 
created  barriers  that  had  to  be  broken  down  before  the 
old  relationship  could  be  resumed. 

O'Connell  and  Peg  made  the  journey  home  almost  in 
silence.  They  sat  hand  in  hand  in  the  conveyance  whilst 
Peg's  eyes  looked  at  the  tall  buildings  as  they  flashed 
past  her,  and  saw  the  daring  advertisements  on  the  board- 
ings and  listened  to  the  ceaseless  roar  of  the  traffic. 

All  was  just  as  she  had  left  it. 

Only  Peg  had  changed. 

New  York  seemed  a  Babel  after  the  quiet  of  that  little 
north  of  England  home.  She  shivered  as  thoughts 
surged  in  a  jumbled  mass  through  her  brain. 

They  reached  O'Connell's  apartment. 
It  had  been  made  brilliant  for  Peg's  return. 

There  were  additions  to  the  meagre  furnishings  Peg 
had  left  behind.  Fresh  pictures  were  on  the  walls.  There 
were  flowers  everywhere. 

O'Connell  watched  Peg  anxiously  as  she  looked  around. 
How  would  she  feel  toward  her  home  when  she  contrasted 
it  with  what  she  had  just  left? 

His  heart  bounded  as  he  saw  Peg's  face  brighten  as 


PEG  RETURNS  TO  HER  FATHER   361 

she  ran  from  one  object  to  another  and  commented  on 
them. 

"  It's  the  grand  furniture  we  have  now,  father ! " 

"  Do  ye  like  it,  Peg?  " 

"  That  I  do.  And  it's  the  beautiful  picture  of  Edward 
Fitzgerald  ye  have  on  the  wall  there ! " 

"  Ye  mind  how  I  used  to  rade  ye  his  life  ?  " 

"  I  do  indade.  It's  many's  the  tear  I've  shed  over 
him  and  Robert  Emmet." 

"  Then  ye've  not  forgotten  ?  " 

"Forgotten  what?" 

"  All  ye  learned  as  a  child  and  we  talked  of  since  ye 
grew  to  a  girl?  " 

"  I  have  not.     Did  ye  think  I  would  ?  " 

"  No,  Peg,  I  didn't.     Still,  I  was  wondherin'— " 

"  What  would  I  be  doin'  forgettin'  the  things  ye  taught 
me?" 

He  looked  at  her  and  a  whimsical  note  came  in  his 
voice  and  the  old  look  twinkled  in  his  eyes. 

"  It's  English  I  thought  ye'd  be  by  now.  Ye've  lived 
so  long  among  the  Saxons." 

"English!  is  it?"  And  her  tone  rang  with  disgust 
and  her  look  was  one  of  disdain.  "  English  ye  thought 
I'd  be !  Sure,  ye  ought  to  know  me  betther  than  that !  " 

"  I  do,  Peg.     I  was  just  tasin'  ye." 

"  An'  what  have  ye  been  doin'  all  these  long  days 
without  me  ?  " 

He  raised  the  littered  sheets  of  his  manuscript  and 
showed  them  to  her. 

"  This." 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  read: 

"  From  *  Buck-shot  *  to  '  Agricultural  Organisation.9 
"  The  History  of  a  Generation  of  English  Misrule,  by 
Frank  Owen  O'Connell." 


362  PEG  O'  MY'  HEART 

She  looked  up  proudly  at  her  father. 

"  It  looks  wondherf ul,  father." 

"  I'll  rade  it  to  you  in  the  long  evenin's  now  we're  to- 
gether again." 

"  Do,  father." 

"And  we  won't  separate  any  more,  Peg,  will  we?  " 

"  We  wouldn't  have  this  time  but  for  you,  father." 

"  Is  it  sorry  ye  are  that  ye  went  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I'm  sorry  o'  coorse,  and  glad,  too, 
in  some  ways." 

"  What  made  yez  come  back  so  sudden-like  ?  " 

w  I  only  promised  to  stay  a  month." 

**  Didn't  they   want   ye  any    longer? " 

"  In  one  way  they  did,  an'  in  another  they  didn't. 
It's  a  long  history  —  that's  what  it  is.  Let  us  sit  down 
here  as  we  used  in  the  early  days  and  I'll  tell  ye  the  whole 
o'  the  happenin's  since  I  left  ye." 

She  made  him  comfortable  as  had  been  her  wont  be- 
fore, and,  sitting  on  the  little  low  stool  at  his  feet,  she 
told  him  the  story  of  her  month  abroad  and  the  impelling 
motive  of  her  return. 

She  softened  some  things  and  omitted  others  —  Ethel 
entirely.  That  episode  should  be  locked  forever  in  Peg'? 
heart. 

Jerry  she  touched  on  lightly. 

O'Connell  asked  her  many  questions  about  him,  re- 
membering the  tone  of  her  later  letters.  And  all  the 
time  he  never  took  his  eyes  from  her  face,  and  he  marked 
how  it  shone  with  a  warm  glow  of  pleasure  when  Jerry's 
name  occurred,  and  how  the  gleam  died  away  and  settled 
into  one  of  sadness  when  she  spoke  of  her  discovery  that 
he  had  a  title. 

"  They're  queer  people,  the  English,  Peg." 

"They  are,  father." 


PEG  RETURNS  TO  HER  FATHER   363 

'  They're  cool  an'  cunnin'  an'  crafty,  me  darlin'." 

"  Some  o'  them  are  fine  an'  honourable  an'  clever  too, 
father." 

"  Was  this  fellow  that  called  himself  *  Jerry  ' —  an'  all 
the  while  was  a  Lord  —  that  same?" 

"  Ivery  bit  of  it,  father." 

"And  he  trated  ye  dacent-like?  " 

"  Sure,  I  might  have  been  a  Lady,  the  way  he  behaved 
to  me." 

"  Did  he  iver  smile  at  ye?  " 

"  Many's  the  time." 

"  Do  ye  remember  the  proverb  I  taught  ye  as  a  child?  " 

"  Which  wun,  father?     I  know  a  hundred,  so  I  do." 

" '  Beware  the  head  of  a  bull,  the  heels  of  a  horse,  of 
the  smile  of  an  Englishman ! '  " 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"  Do  you  remember  that,  Peg?  " 

"I  do.  There  are  Englishmen  arid  Englishmen. 
There  are  plenty  o'  bad  Irish,  and  by  the  same  token 
there  are  some  good  Englishmen.  An'  he  is  wun  o' 
them." 

"  Why  didn't  he  tell  ye  he  was  a  Lord?  " 

"  He  didn't  think  it  necessary.  Over  there  they  let 
ye  gather  from  their  manner  what  they  are.  They 
don't  think  it  necessary  to  be  tellin'  everyone." 

"  It's  the  strange  ones  they  are,  Peg,  to  be  rulin'  us." 

"  Some  day,  father,  they'll  go  over  to  Ireland  and  learn 
what  we're  really  like,  and  then  they'll  change  everything. 
Jerry  said  that." 

"  They've  begun  to  already.  Sure,  there's  a  man 
named  Plunkett  has  done  more  in  a  few  years  than  all 
the  governments  have  accomplished  in  all  the  years  they've 
been  blunderin'  along  tryin'  to  thrample  on  us.  An' 
sure,  Plunkett  has  a  title,  too ! " 


364  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"  I  know,  father.  Jerry  knows  him  and  often  spoke 
of  him." 

"Did  he,  now?" 

"  He  did.  He  said  that  so  long  as  the  English  gov- 
ernment 'ud  listen  to  kindly,  honourable  men  like  Plunkett, 
there  was  hope  of  makin'  Ireland  a  happy,  contented  peo- 
ple, an'  Jerry  said  — 

"  It  seems  Misther  Jerry  must  have  said  a  good  deal 
to  yez." 

"  Oh,  he  did.  Sure,  it  was  Tie  started  me  learnin' 
things,  an'  I  am  goin'  on  learnin'  now,  father.  Let  us 
both  learn." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  the  astonished  father. 

"  O'  coorse,  I  know  ye  have  a  lot  o'  knowledge,  but 
it's  the  little  fine  things  we  Irish  have  got  to  learn.  An' 
they  make  life  seem  so  much  bigger  an'  grander  by  bein' 
considerate  an'  civil  an'  soft-spoken  to  each  other.  We've 
let  the  brutality  of  all  the  years  that  have  gone  before 
eat  into  us,  and  we  have  thrown  off  all  the  charm  and 
formality  of  life,  and  in  their  place  adopted  a  rough  and 
crude  manner  to  each  other  that  does  not  come  really 
from  our  hearts,  but  from  the  memory  of  our  wrongs." 

Unconsciously  Peg  had  spoken  as  she  had  heard  Jerry 
so  often  speak  when  he  discussed  the  Irish.  She  had 
lowered  her  voice  and  concluded  with  quiet  strength 
and  dignity.  The  contrast  to  the  beginning  of  the 
speech  was  electrical.  O'Connell  listened  amazed. 

"Did  the  same  Jerry  say  that?" 

"  He  did,  father.  An'  much  more.  He  knows  Ireland 
well,  an'  loves  it.  Many  of  his  best  friends  are  Irish  — 
an'—" 

"  Wait  a  minnit.  Have  I  ever  been  '  rough  an'  crude  ' 
in  me  manner  to  you,  Peg?  " 

"  Never,  father.     But,  faith,  you  ought  to  be  a  Lord 


365 

yerself.  There  isn't  one  o'  them  in  England  looks  any 
betther  than  you  do.  It's  in  their  manner  that  they 
have  the  advantage  of  us." 

"  And  where  would  /  be  gettin'  the  manner  of  a  Lord, 
when  me  father  died  the  poorest  peasant  in  the  village, 
an'  me  brought  up  from  hand  to  mouth  since  I  was  a 
child?  " 

"  I'm  sorry  I  said  anythin',  father.  I  wasn't  re- 
proachin'  ye." 

"  I  know  that,  Peg." 

"  I'm  so  proud  of  ye  that  yer  manner  manes  more  to 
me  than  any  man  o'  title  in  England." 

He  drew  her  gently  to  him. 

"  There's  the  one  great  danger  of  two  people  who 
have  grown  near  to  each  other  separatin'.  When  they 
meet  again,  they  each  think  the  other  has  changed.  They 
look  at  each  other  with  different  eyes,  Peg.  An'  that's 
what  yer  doin'  with  me.  So  long  as  I  was  near  ye,  ye 
didn't  notice  the  roughness  o'  me  speech  an'  the  lack 
o'  breedin'  an'  the  want  o'  knowledge.  Ye've  seen  and 
listened  to  others  since  who  have  all  I  never  had  the 
chance  to  get.  God  knows  I  want  you  to  have  all  the 
advantages  that  the  wurrld  can  give  ye,  since  you  an* 
me  counthry  —  an'  the  memory  of  yer  mother  —  are  all 
I  have  had  in  me  life  these  twenty  years  past.  An'  that 
was  why  I  urged  ye  to  go  to  England  on  the  bounty  of 
yer  uncle.  I  wanted  ye  to  know  there  was  another  kind 
of  a  life,  where  the  days  flowed  along  without  a  care  or 
a  sorrow.  Where  poverty  was  but  a  word,  an'  misery  had 
no  place.  An'  ye've  seen  it,  Peg.  An'  the  whole  wurrld 
has  changed  for  ye,  Peg.  An'  from  now  you'll  sit  in 
judgment  on  the  dead  and  gone  days  of  yer  youth  — 
an'  in  judgment  on  me — " 

She  interrupted  him  violently : 


366  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"What  are  ye  say  in'  to  me  at  all!  7  sit  in  judgment 
on  you!  What  do  ye  think  I've  become?  Let  me  tell 
ye  I've  come  back  to  ye  a  thousand  times  more  yer  child 
than  I  was  when  I  left  ye.  What  I've  gone  through  has 
only  strengthened  me  love  for  ye  and  me  reverence  for 
yer  life's  work.  7  may  have  changed.  But  don't  we 
all  change  day  by  day,  even  as  we  pass  them  close  to  each 
other.  An'  if  the  change  is  for  the  betther,  where's  the 
harm?  I  have  changed,  father.  There's  somethin' 
wakened  in  me  I  never  knew  before.  It's  a  woman  I've 
brought  ye  back  instead  o'  the  girl  I  left.  An*  it's  the 
woman'U  stand  by  ye,  father,  even  as  the  child  did  when 
I  depended  on  ye  for  every  little  thing.  There's  no 
power  in  the  wurrld'll  ever  separate  us ! " 

She  clung  to  him  hysterically. 

Even  while  she  protested  the  most  he  felt  the  strange 
new  note  in  her  life.  He  held  her  firmly  and  looked  into 
her  eyes. 

"  There's  one  thing,  Peg,  that  must  part  us,  some  day, 
when  it  comes  to  you." 

"What's  that,  father?" 

"  Love,  Peg." 

She  lowered  her  eyes  and  said  nothing. 

"Has  it  come?     Has  it,  Peg?  " 

She  buried  her  face  on  his  breast,  and  though  no  sound 
came,  he  knew  by  the  trembling  of  her  little  body  that 
she  was  crying. 

So  it  had  come  into  her  life. 

The  child  he  had  sent  away  a  month  ago  had  come  back 
to  him  transformed  in  that  little  time  —  into  a  woman. 

The  Cry  of  Youth  and  the  Call  of  Life  had  reached 
her  heart. 


CHAPTER  II 

LOOKING    BACKWARD 

THAT  night  Peg  and  her  father  faced  the  future.  They 
argued  out  all  it  might  mean.  They  would  fight  it  to- 
gether. It  was  a  pathetic,  wistful  little  Peg  that  came 
back  to  him,  and  O'Connell  set  himself  the  task  of  lifting 
something  of  the  load  that  lay  on  his  child's  heart. 

After  all,  he  reasoned  with  her,  with  all  his  gentility 
and  his  advantages  to  have  allowed  Peg  to  like  him  and 
then  to  deliberately  hurt  her  at  the  end,  just  as  she  was 
leaving,  for  a  fancied  insult,  did  not  augur  well  for  the 
character  of  Jerry. 

He  tried  to  laugh  her  out  of  her  mood. 

He  chided  her  for  joking  with  an  Englishman  at  a 
critical  moment  such  as  their  leave-taking. 

"And  it  was  a  joke,  Peg,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Sure,  it  was,  father." 

"  You  ought  to  have  known  betther  than  that.  During 
all  that  long  month  ye  were  there  did  ye  meet  one  Eng- 
lishman that  ever  saw  a  joke?  " 

"  Not  many,  father.     Cousin  Alaric  couldn't." 

"  Did  ye  meet  one?  " 

"I   did,   father. 

"Ye  did?" 

"  I  did." 

"  There  was  a  man  whose  friendship  ye  might  treas- 
ure." 

"  I  do  treasure  it,  father." 

"  Ye  do?  " 

«  Yes,  father." 

867 


PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

"Who  was  it?" 

"  Jerry,  father." 

(yConnell  took  a  long  breath  and  sighed. 

Jerry !     Always  Jerry ! 

"  I  thried  several  jokes  on  him,  an'  he  saw  most  of 
'em." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  this  paragon,  faith." 

"  I  wish  ye  could,  father.  Indade  I  do.  Ye'd  be  such 
good  friends." 

"  We'd  be  friends?  Didn't  ye  say  he  was  a  gintle- 
man? " 

"  He  sez  a  gintleman  is  a  man  who  wouldn't  willingly 
hurt  anybody  else.  And  he  sez,  as  well,  that  it  doesn't 
matther  what  anybody  was  born,  if  they  have  that  quality 
in  them  they're  just  as  much  gintleman  as  the  people 
with  ancestors  an'  breedin'.  An'  he  said  that  the  finest 
gintleman  he  ever  met  was  a  cabman.  " 

"  A  cabman,  Peg?  " 

"  Yes,  faith  —  that's  what  he  said.  The  cabman 
couldn't  hurt  anybody,  and  so  he  was  a  gintleman." 

"Did  he  mane  it?" 

"  He  meant  everything  he  said  —  to  me." 

"  There  isn't  much  the  matther  with  him,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  There's  nothin'  the  matther  with  him,  father." 

**  Mebbe  he  is  Irish  way  back.  It's  just  what  an  Irish- 
man would  say  —  a  rale  Irishman." 

"  There's  no  nationality  in  character  or  art,  or  sport 
or  letthers  or  music.  They're  all  of  one  great  common- 
wealth. They're  all  one  brotherhood,  whether  they're 
white  or  yellow  or  red  or  black.  There's  no  nationality 
about  them.  The  wurrld  wants  the  best,  an'  they  don't 
care  what  colour  the  best  man  is,  so  long  as  he's  great!  *•' 

O'Connell  listened  amazed. 

"  An'  where  might  ye  have  heard  that  ?  " 


PEG  RETURNS  TO  HER  FATHER   369 

"  Jerry  towld  me.     An'  it's  thrue.     I  believe  it." 

They  talked  far  into  the  night. 

He  unfolded  his  plans. 

If  his  book  was  a  success  and  he  made  some  little  money 
out  of  it,  they  would  go  back  to  Ireland  and  live  out  their 
lives  there.  And  it  was  going  to  be  a  wonderful  Ireland, 
too,  with  the  best  of  the  old  and  ceaseless  energy  of  the 
new. 

An  Ireland  worth  living  in. 

They  would  make  their  home  there  again,  and  this 
time  they  would  not  leave  it. 

"  But  some  day  we  might  go  to  England,  father,  eh  ?  " 

"  What  for?  " 

"  Just  to  see  it,  father." 

"  I  was  only  there  once.  It  was  there  yer  mother 
an'  me  were  married.  It  was  there  she  gave  her  life  into 
me  care." 

He  became  suddenly  silent,  and  the  light  of  memory 
shone  in  his  eyes,  and  the  sigh  of  heart-ache  broke  through 
his  lips. 

And  his  thoughts  stretched  back  through  the  years, 
and  once  again  Angela  was  beside  him. 

Peg  saw  the  look  and  knew  it.  She  kept  quite  still. 
Then,  as  of  old,  when  her  father  was  in  trouble,  she  did 
as  she  was  wont  in  those  old-young  days  —  she  slipped 
her  little  hand  into  his  and  waited  for  him  to  break  the 
silence. 

After  a  while  he  stood  up. 

"  Ye'd  betther  be  goin'  to  bed,  Peg." 

"  All  right,  father." 

She  went  to  the  door.     Then  she  stopped. 

"Ye're   glad  I'm  home,  father?" 

He  pressed  her  closely  to  him  for  answer. 

"  I'll  never  lave  ye  again,"  she  whispered. 


370  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

All  through  the  night  Peg  lay  awake,  searching 
through  the  past  and  trying  to  pierce  through  the  future. 

Toward  morning  she  slept  and,  in  a  whirling  dream 
she  saw  a  body  floating  down  a  stream.  She  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  grasp  it  when  the  eyes  met  hers,  and  the 
eyes  were  those  of  a  dead  man  —  and  the  man  was  Jerry. 

She  woke  trembling  with  fear  and  she  turned  on  the 
light  and  huddled  into  a  chair  and  sat  chattering  with 
terror  until  she  heard  her  father  moving  in  his  room. 
She  went  to  the  door  and  asked  him  to  let  her  go  in  to  him. 
He  opened  the  door  and  saw  his  little  Peg  wild  eyed,  pale 
and  terror-stricken,  standing  on  the  threshold.  The  look 
in  her  eyes  terrified  him. 

"  What  is  it,  Peg,  me  darlin'?     What  is  it?  " 

She  crept  in,  and  looked  up  into  his  face  with  her  star- 
tling gaze,  and  she  grasped  him  with  both  of  her  small 
hands,  and  in  a  voice  dull  and  hopeless,  cried  despair- 
ingly : 

"  I  dreamt  he  was  dead !  Dead !  and  I  couldn't  rache 
him.  An'  he  went  on  past  me  —  down  the  stream— - 
with  his  face  up-turned — "  The  grasp  loosened,  and 
just  as  she  slipped  from  him,  O'Connell  caught  her  in 
his  strong  arms  and  placed  her  gently  on  the  sofa  and 
tended  her  until  her  eyes  opened  again  and  looked  up 
at  him. 

It  was  the  first  time  his  Peg  had  fainted. 

She  had  indeed  come  back  to  him  changed. 

He  reproached  himself  bitterly. 

Why  had  he  insisted  on  her  going? 

She  had  a  sorrow  at  her  heart,  now,  that  no  hand  could 
heal  —  not  even  his. 

Time  only  could  soften  her  grief  —  time  —  and  — 


CHAPTER  III 

AN    UNEXPECTED    VISITOR 

THOSE  first  days  following  Peg's  return  found  father 
and  child  nearer  each  other  than  they  had  been  since 
that  famous  trip  through  Ireland,  when  he  lectured  from 
the  back  of  his  historical  cart. 

She  became  O'ConnelPs  amanuensis.  During  the  day 
she  would  go  from  library  to  library  in  New  York,  veri- 
fying data  for  her  father's  monumental  work.  At  night 
he  would  dictate  and  she  would  write.  O'Connell  took 
a  newer  and  more  vital  interest  in  the  book,  and  it  ad- 
vanced rapidly  toward  completion. 

It  was  a  significant  moment  to  introduce  it,  since  the 
eyes  of  the  world  were  turned  on  the  outcome  of  the  new 
measure  for  Home  Rule  for  Ireland,  that  Mr.  Asquith's 
government  were  introducing,  and  that  appeared  to  have 
every  chance  of  becoming  law. 

The  dream  of  so  many  Irishmen  seemed  to  be  within 
the  bounds  of  possibility  of  becoming  a  forceful  reality. 

Accordingly  O'Connell  strained  every  nerve  to  complete 
it.  He  reviewed  the  past;  he  dwelt  on  the  present:  he 
attempted  to  forecast  the  future.  And  with  every  new 
page  that  he  completed  he  felt  it  was  one  more  step 
nearer  home  —  the  home  he  was  hoping  for  and  building 
on  for  Peg  —  in  Ireland. 

There  the  colour  would  come  back  to  her  cheeks,  the 
light  to  her  eyes  and  the  flash  of  merriment  to  her  tongue. 
She  rarely  smiled  now,  and  the  pallor  was  always  in 
her  cheeks,  and  wan  circles  pencilled  around  her  eyes 
spoke  of  hard  working  days  and  restless  nights. 

371 


372  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

She  no  longer  spoke  of  England. 

He,  wise  in  his  generation,  never  referred  to  it.  All 
her  interest  seemed  to  be  centred  in  his  book. 

It  was  a  strange  metamorphosis  for  Peg  —  this  writing 
at  dictation :  correcting  her  orthography ;  becoming  fa- 
miliar with  historical  facts  and  hunting  through  book- 
shelves for  the  actual  occurrences  during  a  certain  pe- 
riod. 

And  she  found  a  certain  happiness  in  doing  it. 

Was  it  not  for  her  father? 

And  was  she  not  improving  herself? 

Already  she  would  not  be  at  such  a  disadvantage,  as  a 
month  ago,  with  people. 

The  thought  gratified  her. 

She  had  two  letters  from  Ethel:  the  first  a  simple, 
direct  one  of  gratitude  and  of  regret ;  gratitude  for  Peg's 
kindness  and  loyalty  to  her,  and  regret  that  Peg  had  left 
them.  The  second  told  of  a  trip  she  was  about  to  make 
to  Norway  with  some  friends. 

They  were  going  to  close  the  house  in  Scarboro  and  re- 
turn to  London  early  in  September. 

Alaric  had  decided  to  follow  his  father's  vocation  and 
go  to  the  bar.  The  following  Autumn  they  would  settle 
permanently  in  London  while  Alaric  ate  his  qualifying 
dinners  and  addressed  himself  to  making  his  career ! 

Of  Brent  she  wrote  nothing.  That  incident  was  ap- 
parently closed.  She  ended  her  letter  with  the  warmest 
expressions  of  regard  and  affection  for  Peg,  and  the 
hope  that  some  day  they  would  meet  again  and  renew 
their  too-brief  intimacy.  The  arrival  of  these  letters 
and  her  daily  *  deviling '  for  her  father  were  the  only 
incidents  in  her  even  life. 

One  evening  some  few  weeks  after  her  return,  she  was 
in  her  room  preparing  to  begin  her  night's  work  with  her 


PEG  RETURNS  TO  HER  FATHER   373 

father  when  she  heard  the  bell  ring.  That  was  unusual. 
Their  callers  were  few.  She  heard  the  outer  door  open 
—  then  the  sound  of  a  distant  voice  mingling  with  her 
father's. 

Then  came  a  knock  at  her  door. 

"  There's  somebody  outside  here  to  see  ye,  Peg,"  said 
her  father. 

"Who  is  it,  father?" 

"  A  perfect  sthranger  = —  to  me.     Be  quick  now." 

She  heard  her  father's  footsteps  go  into  the  little  sit- 
ting-room and  then  the  hum  of  voices. 

Without  any  apparent  reason  she  suddenly  felt  a  tense- 
ness and  nervousness.  She  walked  out  of  her  room  and 
paused  a  moment  outside  the  closed  door  of  the  sitting- 
room  and  listened. 

Her  father  was  talking.  She  opened  the  door  and 
walked  in.  A  tall,  bronzed  man  came  forward  to  greet 
her.  Her  heart  almost  stopped.  She  trembled  violently. 
The  next  moment  Jerry  had  clasped  her  hand  in  both  of 
his. 

"  How  are  you,  Peg  ?  " 

He  smiled  down  at  her  as  he  used  to  in  Regal  Villa: 
and  behind  the  smile  there  was  a  grave  look  in  his  dark 
eyes,  and  the  old  tone  of  tenderness  in  his  voice. 

"  How  are  you,  Peg?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I'm  fine,  Mr.  Jerry,"  she  replied  in  a  daze.  Then 
she  looked  at  O'Connell  and  she  hurried  on  to  say: 

"  This  is  my  father—  Sir  Gerald  Adair." 

"  We'd  inthroduced  ourselves  already,"  said  O'Connell, 
good-naturedly,  eyeing  the  unexpected  visitor  all  the 
while.  "  And  what  might  ye  be  doin'  in  New  York?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  have  never  seen  America.  I  take  an  Englishman's 
interest  in  what  we  once  owned  — " 


374  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

" — And  lost  thro'  misgovernment — " 

*' —  Well,  we'll  say  misunderstanding  — " 

" —  As  they'll  one  day  lose  Ireland  — " 

" —  I  hope  not.  The  two  countries  understand  each 
other  better  every  day." 

"  It's  taken  centuries  to  do  it.5* 

"  The  more  lasting  will  be  the  union." 

As  Peg  watched  Jerry  she  was  wondering  all  the  time 
why  he  was  there.  This  quiet,  undemonstrative,  unemo- 
tional man.  Why? 

The  bell  rang  again.  Peg  started  to  go,  but  O'Con- 
nell  stopped  her. 

"  It's  McGinnis.  This  is  his  night  to  call  and  tell  me 
the  politics  of  the  town.  I'll  take  him  into  the  next  room, 
Peg,  until  yer  visitor  is  gone." 

"  Oh,  please  " —  said  Jerry  hurriedly  and  taking  a  step 
toward  the  door.  "  Allow  me  to  call  some  other  time." 

"  Stay  where  ye  are ! "  cried  O'Connell,  hurrying  out 
AS  tire  bell  rang  again. 

Peg  and  Jerry  looked  at  each  other  a  moment,  then  she 
low«r*d  her  eyes. 

"  I  waat  to  ask  ye  something,  Sir  Gerald,"  she  began. 

"  Jerry !  "  he  corrected. 

"  Please  forgive  me  for  what  I  said  to  ye  that  day.  It 
waj  wrong  of  me  to  say  it.  Yet  it  was  just  what  ye 
might  have  expected  from  me.  But  ye'd  been  so  fine 
to  »e  —  a  little  nobody  —  all  that  wonderful  month  that 
it's  hurt  me  ever  since.  And  I  didn't  dare  write  to  ye  — 
it  would  have  looked  like  presumption  from  me.  But  now 
tlaat  ye've  come  here  —  ye've  found  me  out  and  I  want 
to  ask  yer  pardon  —  an*  I  want  to  ask  ye  not  to  be  angry 
with  me." 

**  I  couldn't  be  angry  with  you,  Peg." 

He  paused,  and,  as  he  looked  at  her,  the  reserve  of 


PEG  RETURNS  TO  HER  FATHER   375 

the  held-in,  self-contained  man  was  broken.  He  bent 
over  her  and  said  softly: 

"  Peg,  I  love  you !  " 

A  cry  welled  up  from  Peg's  heart  to  her  lips,  and  wa» 
stifled.  The  room  swam  around  her. 

Was  all  her  misery  to  end? 

Did  this  man  come  back  from  the  mists  of  memory 
'because  he  loved  her? 

She  tried  to  speak  but  nothing  came  from  her  parched 
lips  and  tightened  throat. 

Then  she  became  conscious  that  he  was  speaking 
again,  and  she  listened  to  him  with  all  her  senses,  with  all 
her  heart,  and  from  her  soul. 

"  I  knew  you  would  never  write  to  me,  and  somehow 
I  wondered  just  how  much  you  cared  for  me  —  if  at  all. 
So  I  came  here.  I  love  you,  Peg.  I  want  you  to  be 
my  wife.  I  want  to  care  for  you,  and  tend  you,  and 
make  you  happy.  I  love  you !  " 

Her  heart  leaped  and  strained.  The  blood  surged  to 
her  temples. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ? "  she  whispered,  and  her  voice 
trembled  and  broke. 

"  I  do.     Indeed  I  do.     Be  my  wife.'* 

"  But  you  have  a  title,"  she  pleaded. 

"  Share  it  with  me !  "  he  replied. 

"  Ye'd  be  so  ashamed  o'  me,  ye  would !  " 

"  No,  Peg,  I'd  be  proud  of  you.     I  love  you !  " 

Peg,  unable  to  argue  or  plead,  or  strive  against  what 
her  heart  yearned  for  the  most,  broke  down  and  sobbed 
as  she  murmured: 

"  I  love  you,  too,  Mister  Jerry." 

In  a  moment  she  was  in  his  arms. 

It  was  the  first  time  anyone  had  touched  her  tenderly 
besides  her  father.  All  her  sturdy,  boyish  ruggedness 


876  PEG  O'  MY  HEART 

shrank  from  any  display  of  affection.  Just  for  a  mo- 
ment it  did  now.  Then  she  slowly  yielded  herself. 

But  Jerry  stroked  her  hair,  and  looked  into  her  eyes 
and  smiled  down  at  her  lovingly,  as  he  asked: 

"  What  will  your  father  say  ?  " 

She  looked  happily  up  at  him  and  answered: 

"  Do  you  know  one  of  the  first  things  me  father  taught 
me  when  I  was  just  a  little  child?  " 

"Tell  me!" 

"  It  was  from  Tom  Moore :  *  Oh,  there's  nothin'  half 
so  sweet  in  life 

As  Love's  young  dream.' " 

When  O'Connell  came  into  the  room  later  he  realised 
that  the  great  summons  had  come  to  his  little  girl. 

He  felt  a  dull  pain  at  his  heart. 

But  only  for  a  moment. 

The  thought  came  to  him  that  he  was  about  to  give 
to  England  his  daughter  in  marriage!  Well,  had  he 
not  taken  from  the  English  one  of  her  fairest  daughters 
as  his  wife? 

And  a  silent  prayer  went  up  from  his  heart  that  happi- 
ness would  abide  with  his  Peg  and  her  *  Jerry '  and  that 
their  romance  would  last  longer  than  had  Angela's  and 
his. 


AFTERWORD 

f 


AFTERWORD 

AND  now  the  moment  has  come  to  take  leave  of  the 
people  I  have  lived  with  for  so  long.  Yet,  though  I  say 
"  Adieu !  "  I  feel  it  is  only  a  temporary  leave-taking. 
Their  lives  are  so  linked  with  mine  that  some  day  in  the 
future  I  may  be  tempted  to  draw  back  the  curtain  and 
show  the  passage  of  years  in  their  various  lives. 

Simultaneously  with  the  Second-Reading  of  the  Home 
Rule  Bill  passing  through  the  English  House  of  Com- 
mons, O'Connell  published  his  book. 

Setting  down  clearly,  without  passion  or  prejudice,  the 
actual  facts  of  the  ancient  and  modern  struggle  for 
Ireland's  freedom,  and  foreshadowing  the  coming  of  the 
New  Era  of  prosperity  and  enlightenment  and  education 
and  business  integrity  —  O'Connell  found  himself  hailed 
as  a  modern  prophet. 

He  appealed  to  them  to  beg  no  longer  but  to  co- 
operate, to  organize  —  above  all  to  work  and  to  work 
consistently  and  intelligently.  He  appealed  to  the  Irish 
working  in  factories  and  work-shops  and  in  civil  appoint- 
ments in  the  great  cities  of  the  world,  to  come  back  to 
Ireland,  and,  once  again  to  worship  at  the  shrine  of  the 
beauty  of  God's  Country !  To  open  their  eyes  and  their 
hearts  to  all  the  light  and  glory  and  wonder  which  God 
gives  to  the  marvellous  world  He  has  made  for  humanity. 
To  see  the  Dawn  o'er  mountain  and  lake ;  scent  the  grass 
and  the  incense  of  the  flowers,  and  the  sweet  breath  of 
the  land.  To  grasp  the  real  and  tumultuous  magnifi- 
cence of  their  native  country. 

He  appealed  to  all  true  Irishmen  to  take  up  their 

379 


380  AFTERWORD 

lives  again  in  the  land  from  which  they  were  driven,  and 
to  be  themselves  the  progenitors  of  Ireland's  New  Na- 
tion. 

It  will  not  be  long  before  his  appeal  will  be  answered 
and  his  prophecy  fulfilled. 

The  Dawn  of  the  New  Ireland  has  begun  to  shed  its 
light  over  the  country,  and  the  call  of  Patriotism  will 
bring  Irishmen  from  the  farthest  limits  of  the  world, 
as  it  drove  them  away  in  the  bitter  time  of  blood  and 
strife  and  ignorance  and  despotism. 

Those  days  have  passed.  O'Connell  was  in  the  thick 
of  the  battle  in  his  youth;  in  his  manhood  he  now  sees 
the  fruit  of  the  conflict. 

Some  day,  with  him,  we  will  visit  Peg  in  her  English 
home,  and  see  the  marvels  time  and  love  have  wrought 
upon  her.  But  to  those  who  knew  her  in  the  old  days  she 
is  still  the  same  Peg  O'  my  Heart  —  resolute,  loyal,  un- 
flinching, mingling  the  laugh  with  the  tear  —  truth  and 
honesty  her  bed-rock. 

And  whilst  we  are  in  London  we  will  drop  into  the 
Law-Courts  and  hear  Alaric  Chichester,  now  Barrister- 
at-Law,  argue  his  first  case  and  show  the  possibility  of 
following  in  his  famous  father's  footsteps. 

We  will  also  visit  Mrs.  Chichester  and  hear  of  her 
little  grand-child,  born  in  Berlin,  where  her  daughter, 
Ethel,  met  and  married  an  attache  at  the  Embassy,  and 
has  formed  a  salon  in  which  the  illustrious  in  the  Diplo- 
matic world  foregather. 

It  will  be  a  grateful  task  to  revive  old  memories  of 
those  who  formed  the  foreground  of  the  life-story  of  one 
whose  radiant  presence  shall  always  live  in  my  memory: 
whose  steadfastness  and  courage  endeared  her  to  all; 
whose  influence  on  those  who  met  her  and  watched  her 


AFTERWORD  381 

and  listened  to  her  was  far-reaching,  since  she  epitomized 
in  her  small  body  all  that  makes  woman  loveable  and 
man  supreme :  honour,  faith  and  Love ! 

Adieu!     Peg  0*  my  Heart! 


GROSSET&  DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED    NOVELS 

THE    KIND    THAT   ARE    MAKING   THEATRICAL    HISTORY 
•toy  be  had  whtrmr  books  are  sol«.        Ask  far  Cresset  &  Dunlap's  Net 

WITHIN  THE  LAW.     By  Bayard  Veiller  &  Mama  Dana. 
Illustrated  by  Wm.  Charles  Cooke. 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  immensely  successful  play  which  ran 
for  two  years  in  New  York  and  Chicago. 

The  plot  of  this  powerful  novel  is  of  a  young  woman's  revenge 
directed  against  her  employer  who  allowed  her  to  be  sent  to  prison 
for  three  years  on  a  charge  of  theft,  of  which  she  was  innocent. 
WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  MARY.     By  Robert  Carlton  Brown. 
Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

j  ?hi?  l*u*  narrative  of  a  young:  and  innocent  country  girl  who  is 

suddenly  thrown  into  the  very  heart  of  New  York,   "the  land  of  her 

dreams,    where  she  is  exposed  to  all  sorts  of  temptations  and  dangers 

1  he  story  of  Mary  is  being  told  in  moving  pictures  and  played  i-i 

theatres  all  over  the  world. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GRIMM.      By  David  Belasco. 
Illustrated  by  John  Rae, 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  popular  play  in  which  David  War, 
field,  as  Old  Peter  Gnmm,  scored  such  a  remarkable  success. 

The  story  is  spectacular   and  extremely  pathetic  but  withal, 
powerful,  both  as  a  book  and  as  a  play. 
THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens.' 

This  novel  is  an  intense,  glowing  epic  of  the  great  desert,  sunlit 
barbaric,  with  its  marvelous  atmosphere  of  vastness  and  loneliness. 

It  is  a  book  of  rapturous  beauty,  vivid  in  word  painting.    The  play 
has  been  staged  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 
BEN    HUR.    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace. 

The  whole  world  has  placed  this  famous  Religious-Historical  Ro- 
mance on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which  no  other  novel  of  its  time 
has  reached.  The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  the  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination.  A  tre- 
mendous dramatic  success. 

BOUGHT  Aft  D  PAID  FOR.     By  George  Broadhurst  and  Arthur 
Hornblow.          Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

^  A  stupendous  arraignment  of  modern  marriage  which  has  created 
an  interest  on  the  stage  that  is  almost  unparalleled.  The  scenes  are  laid 
in  New  York,  and  deal  with  conditions  among  both  the  rich  and  poor. 

p The  interest  of  the  story  turns  on  the  day-by-day  developments 
which  show  the  young  wife  the  price  she  has  paid. 

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TITLES   SELECTED  FROM 

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BEN    HUR.    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace 

This  famous  Religious-Historical  Romance  with  its  mighty  story, 
brilliant  pageantry,  thrilling  action  and  deep  religious  reverence, 
hardly  requires  an  outline.  The  whole  world  has  placed  "Ben-Hur" 
on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which  no  other  novel  of  its  time  has 
reached.  The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  the  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination. 

THE    PRINCE  OE  INDIA.    By  General  Lew  Wallace 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  showing,  with  vivid 
Imagination,  the  possible  forces  behind  the  internal  decay  of  the  Em- 
pire that  hastened  the  fall  of  Constantinople. 

The  foreground  figure  is  the  person  known  to  all  as  the  Wan* 
dering  Jew,  at  this  time  appearing  as  the  Prince  of  India,  with  vast 
stores  of  wealth,  and  is  supposed  to  have  instigated  many  wars  and 
fomented  the  Crusades. 

Mohammed's  love  for  the  Princess  Irene  is  beautifully  wrought 
into  the  story,  and  the  book  as  a  whole  is  a  marvelous  work  both 
historically  and  romantically. 

THE  FAIR  GOD.  By  General  Lew  Wallace.  A  Tale  of  the 
Conquest  of  Mexico.  With  Eight  Illustrations  by  Eric  Pape. 

All  the  annals  of  conquest  have  nothing  more  brilliantly  daring 
and  dramatic  than  the  drama  played  in  Mexico  by  Cortes.  As  a 
dazzling  picture  of  Mexico  and  the  Montezumas  it  leaves  nothing  to 
be  desired. 

The  artist  has  caught  with  rare  enthusiasm  the  spirit  of  the 
Spanish  conquerors  of  Mexico,  its  beauty  and  glory  and  romance. 

TARRY  THOU  TILL  I  COME  or,  Salathiel,  the  Wandering 
Jew.  By  George  Croly.  With  twenty  illustrations  by  T.  de  Thulstrup 

A  historical  novel,  dealing  with  the  momentous  events  that  oc- 
curred, chiefly  in  Palestine,  from  the  time  of  the  Crucifixion  to  the 
destruction  of  Jerusalem. 

The  book,  as  a  story,  is  replete  with  Oriental  charm  and  richness, 
and  the  character  drawing  is  marvelous.  No  other  novel  ever  written 
has  portrayed  with  such  vividness  the  events  that  convulsed  Rome 
and  destroyed  Jerusalem  in  the  early  days  of  Christanity. 

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STORIES   J3F    WESTERN    LIFE 

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RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE,    By  Zane  Grey. 
Illustrated  by  Douglas  Duer. 

In  this  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago,  we 
are  permitted  to  see  the  unscrupulous  methods  employed  by  the  in- 
visible hand  of  the  Mormon  Church  to  break  the  will  of  those  ref  us- 
ing to  conform  to  its  rule. 

FRIAR  TUCK,    By  Robert  Alexander  Wason. 
Illustrated  by  Stanley  L.  Wood. 

Happy  Hawkins  tells  us,  in  his  humorous  way,  how  Friar  Tuck 
lived  among  the  Cowboys,  how  he  adjusted  their  quarrels  and  love 
affairs  and  how  he  fought  with  them  and  for  them  when  occasion 
required. 
THE    S'KY   PILOT.    By  Ralph   Connor. 

Illustrated  by  Louis  Rhead. 

There  is  no  novel,  dealing  with  the  rough  existence  of  cowboys, 
so  charming  in  the  telling,  abounding  as  it  does  with  the  freshest  and 
the  truest  pathos. 

THE  EMIGRANT  TRAIL,    By  Geraldine  Bonner. 
Colored  frontispiece  by  John  Rae. 

The  book  relates  the  adventures  of  a  party  on  its  overland  pil- 
grimage, and  the  birth  and  growth  of  the  absorbing  love  of  two  strong 
men  for  a  charming  heroine. 

THE  BOSS    OF  WIND  RIVER,    By  A.  M.  Chisholm. 
Illustrated  by  Frank  Tenney  Johnson. 

This  is  a  strong,  virile  novel  with  the  lumber  industry  for  its  cen- 
tral theme  and  a  love  story  full  of  interest  as  a  sort  of  subplot 
A  PRAIRIE  COURTSHIP,    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

A  story  of  Canadian  prairies  in  which  the  hero  is  stirred,  through 
the  influence  of  his  love  for  a  woman,  to  settle  down  to  the  heroic 
business  of  pioneer  farming. 
TQYCEJDF  THE  NORTH  WOODS,    By  Harriet  T.  Comstock 

illustrated  by  John  Cassel. 

A  story  of  the  deep  woods  that  shows  the  power  of  love  at  work 
among  its  primitive  dwellers.    It  is  a  tensely,  moving  study  • of  th 
human  heart  and  its  aspirations  that  unfolds  itself  through  thrilling 
situations  and  dramatic  developments. _ 

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JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES   OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

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THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME   PINE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
footprints  cfa  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  KINGDOM  COME 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

"  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND. 
Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  feudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  fer-Sartain"  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

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STORIES    OF    RARE    CHARM    BY 

GENE  STRATTQN-PORTER 

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THE  HARVESTER 
Illustrated  by  W.  L,  Jacobs 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is 
a  man  of  the  vroods  and  fields,  who  draws 
his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in 
it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man,  with 
his  sure  gnp  on  life,  his  superb  optimism, 
and  his  almost  miraculous  knowledge  of 
nature  secrets,  it  would  be  notable.  But 
when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "Medicine 
Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  sound, 
healthy,  large  outdoor  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has 
come  to  him  —  there  begins  a  romance, 
troubled  and  interrupted,  yet  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 

FRECKLES.       Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  his  love- 
story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment 
A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 

Illustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant,  lovable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 

It  is  an  inspiring  story  of  a  life  worth  while  and  the  rich  beauties 
of  the  out-of-doors  are  strewn  through  all  its  pages. 
'  AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 

Illustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp.    Design  and  decorations  bj 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour. 

The  scene  of  this  charming,  idyllic  love  story  is  laid  in  Central 
Indiana.  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self- 
sacrificing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and 
the  love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature,  and  its  pathos 
and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 


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MYRTLE  REED'S  NOVELS 

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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 


A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of 
New  England  where  bygone  romance  finds  a 
modern  parallel.  The  story  centers  round 
the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on 
the  staff  of  a  newspaper — and  it  is  one  of  the 
prettiest,  sweetest  and  quaintest  of  old  fash- 
ioned  love  stories,  *  *  *  a  rare  book,  ex- 
quisite in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of 
delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness,  of  delightful 
humor  and  spontaniety. 


A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

Miss  Myrtle  Reed  may  always  be  depended  upon  to  write  a  story 
in  which  poetry,  sharm,  tenderness  and  humor  are  combined  into  a 
clever  and  entertaining  book.  Her  characters  are  delightful  and  she 
always  displays  a  quaint  humor  of  expression  and  a  quiet  feeling  of 
pathos  which  give  a  touch  of  active  realism  to  all  her  writings.  In 
"A  Spinner  in  the  Sun"  she  tells  an  old-fashioned  love  story,  of  a 
veiled  lady  who  lives  in  solitude  and  whose  features  her  neighbors 
have  never  seen.  There  is  a  mystery  at  the  heart  of  the  book  that 
throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance. 

THE    MASTER'S    VIOLIN, 

A  iove  story  in  a  musical  atmosphere.  A  picturesque,  old  Ger- 
man virtuoso  is  the  reverent  possessor  of  a  genuine  "Cremona."  He 
consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who  proves  to  have 
an  aptitude  for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist.  The  youth 
has  led  the  happy,  careless  life  of  a  modern,  well-to-do  young  Amer- 
ican and  he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past,  express  the  love,  the  passion 
and  the  tragedies  of  life  and  all  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master 
who  has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into  his  life— a 
beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that  his  aunt  had  taken  into  her 
heart  and  home,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns 
the  lessons  that  life  has  to  give — and  his  soul  awakes. 

Founded  on  a  fact  that  all  artists  realize. 

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from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


